


Jeeves and the Female Doubles

by triedunture



Category: Jeeves & Wooster
Genre: Femslash, Multi, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-30
Updated: 2009-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-04 01:00:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 20,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/triedunture/pseuds/triedunture
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bertie's aunts are trying to get him hitched to a girl who is an awful lot like him. Also, Jeeves gets drunk, Claude and Eustace get blackmailed, and Seppings is on a mission to stamp out illicit liaisons.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Русский available: [Дживс и двойники в юбках](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4965532) by [sige_vic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sige_vic/pseuds/sige_vic)



  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[fic](http://triedunture.livejournal.com/tag/fic), [jeeves](http://triedunture.livejournal.com/tag/jeeves)  
  
---|---  
  
It was a rummy sitch any way you looked at it, literally every way you looked. What I mean to say is, one could look at Bertram W. Wooster and then glance over idly to the female getting out of the car, and one would have to do a sort of double-take, soda water-spitting jolt of shock that comes with seeing double. The girl looked too much like him, was the problem. Not to mention her maid was cut from exactly the same cloth as his valet. It was like holding up a mirror that somehow added skirts, and that just isn't cricket!

Hold on a moment.

You don't have the faintest idea what I'm babbling on about, do you? Well, isn't this just typical. I'm handed third person narration duties (instead of said duties going to the first person as usual, that is to say, B.W. Wooster) and I make a hash of it just as he usually does. You see, Bertie often makes the grave error of beginning a story in the middle and then doubling back to the beginning so it all makes sense. I promised myself I wouldn't do the same, but you know how these things are. You're a clever, omniscient being, flitting from one person's thoughts to the next when suddenly you get a bit excited and skip all the important parts of the story you're supposed to be telling. I promise I won't let it happen again. Forget all that guff about Bertie and Jeeves and their female doppelgangers, and I'll go directly to where it all started.

It began, as most disastrous things do, with a telephone call between two aunts.

The sisters Dahlia and Agatha were not what one would term 'close'. The siblings lived far apart, Agatha in London and Dahlia in the country. They saw each other during Christmastime; otherwise, their social calendars did not often brush shoulders. One of the reasons being that Dahlia considered her older sister to be a sour busybody, and Agatha thought her younger sister a loud-mouthed loony.

However, the sisters _née_ Wooster could agree on one thing: their nephew needed all the help he could get.

Bertie was Dahlia's favourite nephew, as she had no taste for Agatha's twin sons, who were as big a boatload of trouble as you could squash into two people. No, it was Bertie whom Dahlia looked upon fondly, inviting him to her home at Brinkley Court for a small dose of his somewhat amusing company. It didn't hurt, of course, that his man Jeeves often smoothed over any dire predicaments in which Dahlia might find herself. At any rate, Dahlia had felt protective of young Bertie ever since his father had passed on. Bertie always had her ear, if not her complete sympathy, as he was sometimes just the most hopeless blighter who'd ever lived, in her opinion.

Agatha, on the other hand, chose to show her concern in a different manner. She saw in Bertie an opportunity that was fast slipping away, an idle boy contributing nothing to society in general or his family in particular. Agatha knew that, if it weren't for the meddling valet Jeeves, Bertie would have been married twenty times over, and perhaps would not weigh on her mind so much. But as it stood, Bertie remained wife-less and completely unmanageable. It was only because she loved the foul idiot in her own way that she pushed the matter. Agatha shuddered to think what would happen to him after his elder relations were gone.

It was in this environment of auntly worry that the telephone call took place.

Dahlia was the one to pick up the receiver and place the request with the operator. After an interminable wait for the connection, the butler's answering greeting, and the ensuing tracking down of the house's mistress, Dahlia finally found herself speaking to Agatha.

'Hullo, you great big frowning wrinkle,' Dahlia hailed her sister. It was a term of affection that she had used all through their shared childhood, a phrase which Agatha had never liked and still continued to sniff at.

Agatha, in fact, sniffed now. 'Dahlia, so you have made it back from Cannes in one piece, though perhaps your pocketbook has not been so lucky?'

'Never mind my pocketbook,' Dahlia snapped, who was in truth still smarting from a bad round at the roulette wheel. 'I wanted to discuss Bertie with you.'

'Bertie? What has the blasted young sponge done this time?'

'Nothing so far. However--'

'Yes, I agree,' Agatha riposted dryly. 'He has done absolutely nothing. His life is a meaningless pit of excess and--'

'Will you sew your trap shut for one bally moment? I'm trying to tell you something here, Aggie!' Though such an exchange might have offended the sensibilities of the man who was the centre of their conversation, it was a usual occurrence for the two sisters. They had never been very good at speaking to each other without such jabs entering into the dialogue.

Agatha bade her sister to continue with none of the grace in the world. Dahlia plunged ahead. 'I made the acquaintance of a young lady while in Cannes,' she began with a coy note building in the back of her booming voice.

'Who is she?' Agatha demanded, never one to beat round the bush. 'Who are her people?'

And so Dahlia related the tale of young Beatrice Wemble, of the Shropshire Wembles, who were of course related to the Shropshire Skoldding-Tipps. The poor thing, Dahlia sighed, was an orphan from a very young age, much like their nephew Bertram. And also like Bertram, Miss Wemble was possessed of a sunny disposition and a keen sense of humour. She had accompanied Dahlia on her many turns round the casino, and even when Dahlia had lost her entire purse on black 17 (a detail which she did not disclose to Agatha), Miss Wemble had been perfectly brilliant at cheering her up once more.

'I hardly ever do this, Agatha; I know you're the one who's always shoving girls onto poor Bertie; but I think this Wemble child could be just the ticket,' Dahlia concluded.

Agatha did not share her sister's enthusiasm. 'From your description, the girl does not sound at all suitable. Bertie's love of frivolity is too great. Think of how awful it would be if he were paired with a female just as irresponsible as he is,' she intoned. 'No, Bertie needs a wife that will provide a balance to his foolish nature. Someone firm and serious.'

Dahlia snorted. 'All the serious girls you've picked for Bertie have proved to be pills of the worst kind! It's no wonder he runs the other way when they appear bearing your label of approval.'

'How _dare_ you say--'

'I'll say anything I damn well--'

And the two sisters began a bellowing match over the line until it crackled in protest and they needed to stop for air. Finally, when the last of the insults had been flung, Dahlia returned to her original line of thought.

'Aggie,' she tried sweetly, 'I'm on your side. I want to see Bertie happy and taken care of just as you do. But your tactics have not worked thus far, dear sister. Perhaps it's now time to try something wholly different.'

'I can only envision this plot ending in the most horrible failure,' Agatha said, sticking to her guns like a jam-covered Napoleon. 'I refuse to help you in any way.'

'May I remind you,' Dahlia added, 'that the Wemble fortune is quite extensive? And that the young Beatrice will be granted full access to it upon her marriage to a suitable gentleman?'

There was a short silence on Agatha's end of the line. 'Quite extensive, you say?'

'Incredibly so.'

'When you say "incredibly . . ."'

'Let's put it this way,' Dahlia said. 'If she ever got it into her head to steal Anatole from me, I don't think I could match the salary she would offer.'

'Oh. I see.' Agatha cleared her throat. 'I suppose that, at this late stage, with Bertie approaching his thirtieth year--'

'He's only twenty-five, Aggie!'

'That is still approaching,' the older sister snapped. 'And in light of that fact, Miss Wemble would be better than nothing. What would you have me do to usher along this union?'

'That's the spirit!' Dahlia chortled. 'First, whatever you do, don't tell him you approve of the match! That would be the iceberg that sinks this plan before it even gets out of port.'

'What _else_ might I do?' Agatha asked icily.

'Claude and Eustace are on holiday from Oxford, correct?' At Agatha's affirmative, Dahlia ordered, 'Send them to Brinkley.'

And here is where Dahlia's cunning differed from that of her sister. Whereas Agatha had always exerted her will like a piano smashing through the floor after being dropped from a goodish height, Dahlia was content to set a trap for their little fox and wait. Claude and Eustace would provide a nice camouflage. That is to say, Dahlia knew that any aunt, even as one as beloved to Bertie as she, could not slap him on the back and say, 'What-ho, Bertie, I've found a girl I'm positive you'll go ga-ga for!' That way led only to ruin. No, Dahlia knew she couldn't be the one to plant the idea in Bertram's head. He would kick if she tried.

So when the twins arrived, she explained all to them over breakfast.

'And you two will be the ones to spring the idea on him,' she said at the conclusion of her speech. 'He won't listen to his wiser relations, but he might listen to you dunderheads, though the Lord only knows why.'

'Wait a moment,' Claude protested, 'why in the world would we want Bertie to get married?'

'Yes, he's corking fun just as he is!' Eustace broke in. 'If he got himself a wife, we wouldn't be able to drop in at his flat with fish and cats and stove-pipes all the bally time. And would a wife let Bertie float us a fiver every so often with the cousinly love he's so known for? No, I should say not.'

'Consider us on the anti-Wemble front,' Claude said with a firm nod as he took another kipper from the serving tray.

Dahlia's eyes flashed. 'You are about to switch fronts,' she said, 'unless, of course, you want your mother to find out about the loan from last term. What was the name of that horse? Pineapple Tart? She would be awfully disappointed that your allowances had been squandered so.'

'Blackmail!' shrieked Claude.

'Complete and utter blackmail!' Eustace agreed.

'Look, stay and eat my salt, by all means. I only ask you, foul nephews of mine, to do this one simple thing for me.'

What could the brothers Gregson do but agree?

Now, hold onto your travelling caps, gentle readers, because you're about to be inundated with the cast of characters that I was rushing to describe to you at the beginning bit. If you were Tom Travers, that is, Dahlia's husband, you'd no doubt be clutching your chest and bemoaning the fate of your house, beset like it was with blasted visitors. Tom Travers didn't much care for company, you see, so at the faintest hint from his good and deserving wife that several specimens were descending on the place, he legged it to Bath to take the cure.

So that's one less chap you'll need to be acquainted with, I suppose. Here are the rest of the lot.

Bertie and his man Jeeves pulled up in the two-seater a few hours prior to the dinner hour. Jeeves somehow managed to both retrieve the luggage from the back of the motorcar and open the driver's side door for Bertie. The last of the Woosters emerged in an understated and dashing tweed, shaking the metaphorical dust of the journey from his heels with a successful cigarette, which Jeeves lit before Bertie could find a match. Bertie inhaled deeply and looked up at the looming pile of bricks that was Brinkley Court before delivering his verdict to his faithful valet.

'Jeeves,' Bertie said, 'I daresay this is just what the doctor ordered for the young master. The company of my loving Aunt Dahlia, a belly full of Anatole's cooking, and two lungs pumped up with sweet, clean country air. I'm not afraid to tell you, Jeeves, just the sight of this homestead makes me feel boomps-a-daisy.'

'Indeed, sir,' Jeeves answered, but he wasn't facing Bertie as he responded. He was, instead, squinting down the long and winding drive to watch the progress of a dapper little self-starter as it trundled up. Bertie, who had heard the note of the preoccupied in his man's voice, turned as well. The footmen came and went with the baggage, and still the two men stood watching the approaching vehicle.

'Aunt Dahlia didn't mention any other guests, what?' Bertie asked, his nose scrunched in thought. 'Who do you suppose that is, Jeeves?'

'It's difficult to say, sir,' Jeeves replied in that lofty tone of his, 'as the vehicle is not familiar to me.'

The car gave a cheery toot of its horn before barrelling into the space next to Bertie's two-seater in a cloud of dust. The sleek green door was flung open on the driver's side, and a young woman emerged, laughing and unwrapping a scarf from her hair.

'I told you it was excellent weather for driving, Jane!' said the girl. 'Not a hair over two hours, what?'

Bertie exchanged a look with Jeeves. It wasn't that Bertie or Jeeves disapproved of female drivers; in fact, nearly all of Bertie's female acquaintances drove themselves when in town. It was just that Bertie wasn't too keen on any of them driving so fast. Women, on the whole, often hit things metaphorically even when on foot, like the Wooster pride and the Wooster spirit. On wheels, they could only be ten times as dangerous.

Still, a gentleman was required to make certain introductions. 'What ho, there.' Bertie stepped forward and extended a hand. 'Wooster, B.W. Eldest and most loved nephew of Travers, D.'

'Ah, Mr Wooster. Good to meet you, of course. Mrs Travers has told me ever so much--' The girl had reached her own slim, gloved hand forward at the same time she'd completed the mess of untangling her scarf from her hair. That task done, she was able to look Bertie fully in the face, and that was when her voice died.

Because it was very obvious to everyone present that they might have been siblings.

'Beatrice Wemble,' she finished with a little cough, taking Bertie's hand in hers.

Beatrice and Bertie shared the same pale skin and straw-coloured hair, the same wide blue eyes, even the same looks of dumb confusion as they sized up one another. Same considerable height, same willowy frame. Even their clothing ensembles seemed to match: Bertie's a dark brown travelling suit and Beatrice's a brown tweed skirt and jacket.

'My friends call me Bee,' she offered as they continued shaking hands for an awkward length of time. 'As in buzz.'

'Bertie,' the young man blurted. 'That's what my friends call me, of course, not you. They call you Bee, what?'

They actually even laughed the same nervous, trilling laugh.

As said laugh was exchanged, Jeeves looked on impassively. He might have been chastised for not following the footmen with the heavy baggage to ensure it was properly seen to, but he and Mr Wooster had been guests at Brinkley dozens of times now, and Jeeves was confident the men would put the bags in the usual room. It was this new development that worried him far more.

They even dabbed at their eyes after a hearty laugh in the same manner.

A new shape hove into view, rising from the passenger side of the Wemble automobile like a black storm cloud. It was the lady's maid, dressed in a starched uniform of stiff black cotton and a simple collar. Her face was inscrutable as she watched her mistress chat with Bertie Wooster, then surveyed the surrounding environment. She wore her jet black hair in a neat bun at her nape, and her head was topped with a small black travelling cap. Her eyes, serious and grey, stopped on Jeeves.

Jeeves shared her gaze for only a moment before deciding the gentlemanly thing to do would be to make his own introductions. He glided over to the maid and tipped his bowler hat. 'My name is Jeeves, ' he said.

The maid touched the brim of her own hat, a strange gesture, but still proper in its way. 'Roberts,' she replied. 'You appear familiar with this house, Mr Jeeves.'

'Yes, Miss Roberts. I would be happy to explain its inner workings to you, if you wish.' Jeeves knew, as all good valets did, that the visiting valet or lady's maid were often at a disadvantage in a large house, where the staff might choose to treat them with contempt for their airs and freedoms. Jeeves was lucky in that the Travers' staff were gracious on the whole, and he had a pleasant friendship with Seppings the butler.

'I shall keep your offer in mind if any quandaries arise, Mr Jeeves, thank you.' But Jane Roberts was not focused on her conversation partner; her sharp eyes were fastened on Beatrice and Bertie, who were currently comparing the sleek chrome bodies of their automobiles and arguing in a good-natured way about the other car's defects. Both seemed to be car enthusiasts of the artistic kind instead of the mechanical, Jane noted.

'You simply cannot tell me this isn't the most beautiful headlamp you've ever seen. Just look at it!' Bertie cajoled, drawing Beatrice's attention to his two-seater's eye pieces.

'But does it work, Mr Wooster? The '23 has always had a problem with shorts in the electrical. That's why you really must consider my '25 here.' And Beatrice dragged Bertie back to her self-starter.

'Yes, but I just can't abide what they did to the bonnet. I mean, really.' It was like watching a tennis match with two over-eager balls in play.

At that moment, the footmen returned for the lady's baggage, and Seppings strode forth with a few grooms to usher Jeeves and Roberts in one direction. Jeeves introduced Miss Roberts to Seppings, and the butler welcomed her with a stern warning under his breath: 'We've been having some problems lately with some of the younger servants breaking the rules of fraternisation after hours. I know I have nothing to fear from you, Mr Jeeves, and I do hope you will respect the rules of the house, Miss Roberts.' Jane assured him she would, and Jeeves voiced his own affirmation.

Dahila also made an appearance, her eyes unusually bright in Bertie's opinion.

'Ah, the young blot. You've arrived early for once. And Beatrice, how do you do? You've also cut some minutes from the trip, I suppose.' Dahila pressed kisses to several cheeks and then, not waiting for anyone to argue, said, 'Bertie, you will take Miss Wemble to see the gardens for me, won't you? I'm up to my ears right now in trouble. The twins are here, you know.'

'Claude and Eustace? Whatever for?' Bertie gaped, having never known his cousins to be welcome at Brinkley since they had smashed Uncle Tom's silver display case when they were still in short trousers.

'Never you mind, young Bertie. I'll see you both at dinner. Toddles!' And with that, Dahlia legged it. The grooms drove off with the cars to park them in the garage; the footmen exited with the baggage, and Roberts and Jeeves trailed behind Seppings.

Bertie and Beatrice were left very much alone in the drive.

Bertie cursed inwardly; the last thing he needed was another dratted beazel on his heels, especially one who favoured the '25 model.

Beatrice cursed inwardly; the last thing she needed was another dratted bird panting after her, especially one who favoured the '23.

But they met each other's eyes with quick smiles. 'Shall we?' Bertie asked, offering his arm like the _preux chevalier_ he was.

'Yes, how delightful,' Bee answered and grasped his elbow like the charming lady she was.

&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;

From the window of the third floor Lavender Room, the one usually given to visiting single ladies, Jane Roberts watched her mistress walking below in the garden with Bertie Wooster. Jane's hands were occupied with hanging dresses and skirts in the wardrobe, but her eyes and mind were fastened on the movements of the two young people traipsing among the flowers and marble statuary. Though she couldn't hear their conversation, Jane could clearly imagine Beatrice's laugh that accompanied her thrown-back head and squeezed-shut eyes.

Jane's eyes narrowed. What was that Wooster boy saying that was so amusing, anyway?

'Miss Roberts?' a deep voice called softly from the open doorway.

Jane turned to find Wooster's valet standing there. He was very tall, she thought idly. 'Yes, Mr Jeeves?'

'I thought it prudent to see if you required any direction as to the household's layout,' Jeeves said, politely keeping to the hallway instead of stepping in uninvited. 'Are you in need of anything?'

'Actually, I would like to know if I might switch this bottle of Madeira with some whiskey.' Jane put away the silk stockings she was folding and motioned to the sidebar. 'Miss Wemble prefers it.'

'Does she?' Jeeves raised an impassive eyebrow.

Jane answered with one of her own. 'Indeed, she does.'

Jeeves coughed into his fist. 'I believe Mrs Travers might share your mistress' preference and stocks the ladies' rooms accordingly. If I may?' And with a permissive nod from Jane, Jeeves glided into the bedroom and opened the cupboard under the side table to retrieve a rather dusty bottle of scotch, its yellowed label peeling at the edges. 'Would this serve?'

'Thank you, yes.' Jane took the bottle and reached into her white apron for a clean cloth. She wiped the glass sides of the bottle as Jeeves glanced in a seemingly off-hand manner out the window. But Jane saw his gaze dart to where his master was strolling along with Beatrice. For a moment, seeing him was like looking into a mirror that reflected inside feelings, but it was just a fleeting moment, and then the valet was back to stone-faced nothingness.

'If other matters arise with which I might provide assistance, please do not hesitate to seek me out, Miss Roberts,' Jeeves said as he made his exit.

'Likewise, Mr Jeeves.' And Jane returned to unpacking.

&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;

At this exact moment, two identical lanky forms were lounging against the low garden wall. The two coves in question were Claude and Eustace Gregson , and they were smoking sullen cigarettes and awaiting the appearance of their cousin Bertie, who, their Aunt Dahlia had informed them, would be hoofing it into view momentarily along with the Wemble filly. Aunt Dahlia had ordered the twins to make Miss Wemble's acquaintance, shoo her indoors away from Bertie, and then plant the seed in Bertie's mind that the girl was hot stuff.

'I want you to pitch it strong,' their aunt had thundered. 'When you're done with him, I want no doubts left in Bertie's pea-brain. In fact, he should be wondering why he hasn't married the girl years ago. Got it, you two blisters?'

Claude and Eustace had nodded; what else could they do with Aunt Dahlia blackmailing them so unfairly?

'What shall we say to him if the beazel's an unmitigated wreck?' Eustace asked his brother. 'She might be as wide as she is tall, or have spots.'

Claude threw away the end of his gasper and blew the last mouthful of smoke to the sky. 'We'll lie through our teeth, I suppose. Call her Ruben-whatsit.'

A twig cracked somewhere, and the twins heard the high, twittering notes of Bertie's voice coming closer. They straightened themselves for their mission and waited for Bertie and Beatrice to turn the final corner.

Imagine their surprise when, instead of a dog-faced girl like they were expecting, they found that Bertie, too, had a twin of a sort. The Wemble was unmistakeably built in the same mould. She shared Bertie's frame and hair colour, even his laugh. It was downright strange, and the brothers shared a look that expressed their mutual distaste at such a pairing. Nevertheless, they had a job to do, and so they did it, ushering Beatrice indoors with a friendly greeting before taking their cousin aside for a word.

'That Wemble girl, Bertie.' Claude made a ring with his thumb and forefinger, nodding gravely. 'That's a keeper if ever I saw one.'

'Oh?' Bertie riposted.

'Certainly, old man,' Eustace jumped in. 'Why, it was obvious she's smitten. Did you not see the love-light burning in her eyes?'

'Well, we were only talking about Jeeves.' Bertie gestured to the garden path behind as if he could draw their attention to the past conversation. 'Did you know that Beatrice has a lady's maid that's a paragon of problem-solving just like him? It's really uncanny how--'

'Right! But!' Claude shot his brother a pleading look. 'She's a looker, isn't she?'

'The real Tabasco,' Eustace added.

'That hair. Those legs. You agree, Eustace?'

'Of course. Lips like an angel. Wouldn't you say, Claude?'

'Unreservedly. Couple that with the fact she's got a metric ton of money waiting for her wedding day, and you've got a real winner.'

Bertie sighed. He had watched his cousins fight over the same woman in the past and it never ended well. 'Look, if you two are over the moon for her, maybe I can say something to put you in her good graces. We're quite chummy now, I think.'

'Oh, no! Not us, Bertie.'

'No, we're too . . .'

'Unworthy!'

'Yes! Completely unfit to even wash her feet.'

'But she's ripe for you, old fruit.'

'It's patently clear.'

Bertie scrunched his face up in disbelief. 'Really?'

Claude and Eustace nodded in unison.

'Pardon me, sir.' Jeeves shimmered into view by the open french doors. 'Will you require a bath before dinner?'

'Erm, yes, thank you, Jeeves. Toodle-pip, you two. I'll strap on the nosebag with you later.' And Bertie left his cousins with a cheerful wave and a churning mind. Beatrice? In love with him? He'd only just met the girl. Bertie walked along the corridors and up the grand staircase with Jeeves silently slithering behind him.

'Jeeves, what do you make of Miss Wemble?' he asked suddenly as they ascended.

'A charming young lady, sir, though I have only just made her acquaintance.'

'Do you think she might be a bit mad?'

'I did not receive the impression of madness from Miss Wemble, sir.'

Bertie gave a thoughtful hum as he continued up the stairs. Jeeves waited a short beat before asking, 'Has the lady given you some indication to doubt her mental stability, sir?'

'No, not as such. Except Claude and Eustace assure me that she's absolutely potty about me.' Bertie shrugged and continued onward, unaware of Jeeves' growing frown.

In Bertie's assigned guest room, Jeeves relieved his master of his travelling jacket and shoes before excusing himself to run the water in the attached bath. Though Jeeves showed no outward sign that he desired to know more about this odd development, he merely waited for the rumblings in Bertie's head to be expressed vocally. It came as he was shaking the bath salts into the tub.

'Did _you_ detect the light of love in her eyes as they landed on me, Jeeves?' Bertie demanded as he shucked his waistcoat.

'I could not say, sir.' Jeeves floated from the _salle de bain_, picking up Bertie's discarded clothing as the young master slid into the vacated bath.

Bertie continued the conversation through the cracked door. 'She seems to be a fine sort, do you think, Jeeves?' Bertie asked. 'That is to say, there are worse women to marry.'

Jeeves, though Bertie couldn't see him, restrained his eyebrow from raising wildly in worry. 'As you say, sir,' he said in a soupy manner.

'And Claude and Eustace assure me she is as toothsome as they come. Though, between us, Jeeves, I wasn't struck by Miss Wemble's singular beauty. Were you?' Bertie called through as he soaped up his chest.

Jeeves' brow furrowed at the question. If he were honest with his master, he would be forced to say he had noted Miss Wemble's physical loveliness, but that was only because she so closely resembled that which Jeeves found beautiful: Mr Wooster himself. Obviously, Jeeves was not able to speak his mind on the matter. Instead, he only murmured, 'Not particularly, sir.'

Bertie began to tick things off on his fingers. 'Beatrice is lively, has a sense of humour, enjoys cars and gardens, she hasn't tried to mould me, she hasn't forced me to read philosophy or modern literature, and she's possessed of a passable figure. Dash it, I've attempted to tie my fate to specimens a sight worse than that!'

Jeeves pursed his lips together as he laid out Bertie's white tie. He hadn't been asked a direct question, so he couldn't voice his opinion: that Miss Wemble would, in fact, not be a suitable wife for Mr Wooster, because no woman would ever be a suitable wife for Mr Wooster. He merely coughed in agitation.

'Jeeves, I--I think I will go have a chat with Miss Wemble before the gong is rung,' Bertie said in that dazed sort of voice he often developed when it became clear to him that he was about to get engaged again. 'Ensure that the shoes are shined, what?'

'Yes, sir. Very good, sir.' The frost in Jeeves' voice could have frozen the dinner roast.

&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;

Meanwhile, in Miss Wemble's room, Jane Roberts was busy choosing an appropriate gown for her mistress. Beatrice lounged on the bedspread in her dressing gown, not quite ready to bathe for dinner just yet.

'Oh, really, Jane. Must it be the white? I rather fancied the new green one for this evening.'

'The white is very becoming for one of your colouring, Miss Wemble,' Jane said placidly as she unpacked the regal gown and hung it to air. 'The green would not have been suitable, if you pardon my saying so.'

'You just don't like how it plunges in the back. I saw you eyeballing it with distaste when it arrived from the shop; don't try to deny it.' Beatrice stood and sauntered over to where Jane was folding a shawl into a neat square to place in the cedar wardrobe. She pressed herself against her maid's back and giggled into her ear. 'You haven't even packed the green one, have you?'

A sly smile crossed Jane's lips for only a moment. She replied in a light tone, 'I apologise, miss. It would appear to have slipped my mind.'

'All the girls are wearing backless gowns these days, Jane. Would you really deprive me so?' Beatrice wound her arms round Jane's slim waist, nosing her way into the fine black hairs that escaped the bun at the base of her neck. 'We can make a bargain. I'll forgive you the green dress if you allow me a spot of fun now.'

A firm hand rested on Beatrice's arms in a warning fashion. 'We are guests in an unfamiliar house, miss. I would not advise such a breach at the current--' Jane sucked in a quick breath as Beatrice nibbled on her right earlobe.

Those of you who don't know enough to read the label on the tin are no doubt shocked. 'Ladies!' you might gasp. 'Nibbling earlobes! Of other ladies, to boot!' Yes, I know, it's all very topsy turvey . But honestly, things would go much quicker if you closed your flapping mouths and let me narrate. Suffice to say that some ladies enjoy nibbling the earlobes of the more feminine aural organs. And furthermore, it would appear that Beatrice Wemble and her maid Jane were a pair of such ladies, and had been for some time. Only the ease of familiarity would have allowed a servant as staunch and proper as Jane to relax into her mistress' embrace, which she did with no real protest.

Now, in Jane's mind, several variables had to be weighed. On the one hand, there was a certain danger of being overheard by the house's inhabitants, but no more than in a hotel, and they had bally well done worse in hotels in the years they'd known each other as more than mistress and maid. Why, their recent trip to Cannes had been especially given to romps. On the other hand, Jane had cleverly foreseen that Miss Wemble would try to instigate such a bold manoeuvre, and she had locked the bedroom door while tidying just in case. So the matter, on her part, was settled, and she turned her head to return her mistress' kiss.

Unfortunately, Beatrice had also thought herself very clever and had 'locked' the door as well. Except she had really unlocked the door that Jane had previously locked. But when one is being kissed byone's incredibly capable maid, and guided to the large and fluffy bed, and generally being ravished, one doesn't always think of things like locking mechanisms. Needless to say there was an enthusiastic unfastening of clothing, interspersed with not a little mouthplay, with no thought being given to the door.

'You are swayed, then?' Beatrice asked with an impish grin as she rucked her maid's stiff black skirts up her smooth thighs.

'I would be, miss, if you wish it. There is some time yet before the dinner gong is rung.' Jane returned her lady's grin with a slightly raised ebony eyebrow and lowered them both to a more horizontal position. Quick hands went to work on silk stockings and their suspenders; dancing fingers traipsed over the belt of a dressing gown.

'Oh, Jane, I shall be able to think of nothing but this while sitting at the table,' the blonde girl murmured into Jane's coal-coloured hair, which was released from its strict bun to fall about her shoulders. 'Someone will comment on the weather, and I will have to stumble through a reply as I wrest my mind away from your wonderful mouth.'

'Really, miss?' Jane blinked her eyes in false innocence. 'Perhaps I should cease my ministrations so you do not undergo such deep embarrassment later this evening.' Her hand, however, belied her words, as it crept up her mistress' calf and tickled behind her knee. 'It would not do if Mr Wooster engaged you,' she said with a weighty pause, 'in conversation with your mental state being so far from normal.'

Beatrice propped herself up on her elbows. 'Jane, I don't like that soupy tone. I daresay I sense a tinge of jealousy in your voice.'

'Oh, no, miss. You must be mistaken.' That cheeky eyebrow was back in full force as Jane trailed her hand along Beatrice's sensitive, shaking-a-bit thigh. 'I merely fear for your well-being.'

Beatrice's dressing gown was now fully opened, and Jane's delicate fingers were skimming along the shimmering silks and laces of her myriad underthings. 'Jane, if you truly cared for my well-being, you'd be bending yourself to a more important task at the mo', don't you agree?'

Dark eyes flashed. 'Certainly, miss.' And Jane bent her dark head low, pushing aside the last few layers of clothing that separated her from Beatrice's womanhood. She tongued at the tiny nub of flesh directly above the opening there, a little button nestled in her curly hair. Beatrice hooked her legs round Jane's shoulders and arched into her touch like a wanton. Jane grinned into the soft skin of her mistress' thigh and listened to her singular purr.

'More, Jane. If you would?' Bee moaned softly.

'Indeed, miss.' Jane kissed at the crease where Beatrice's thigh met her hip. 'It would be my pleasure.'

It was about that time that Bertie Wooster burst into the room, saying, 'Beatrice, there's something I'd like to--OH GOOD LORD!'

Several things happened in rapid succession: Beatrice yelped and made an ungainly leaping roll, thumping onto the floor on the far side of the bed, where she was hidden from Bertie's gaze. Bertie gaped. Jane watched her mistress' retreat with a slight wince, but managed to yank the duvet free from the bed and wrap it about her frame much like a toga. Bertie continued to gape.

Jane stood as smoothly as one can when wearing a duvet. 'Mr Wooster,' she hissed, 'would you please close the door!'

'Er, right-ho, right-ho,' Bertie babbled, shutting the door with all his haste.

Beatrice's ruffled head of blonde hair appeared over the edge of the mattress. 'Bertie, you idiot, close the door with you on the other side of it!'

Bertie's eyes took on yet another layer of shock, and he struggled with the strangely slippery doorknob. 'Yes, of course! Dreadfully sorry, I mean to say. That is, yes, of course.'

'Just go!' Beatrice wailed, and Bertie finally got the bally door open and slipped through, slamming it shut behind him.

On one side of the door, a Wooster leaned heavily against the wood, panting like the dickens.

On the other side, Beatrice was sobbing into the duvet that was draped round her maid's shoulder. Jane rubbed her mistress' back and whispered assurances in her ear, but her steely gaze was fixed on the door and her mind was occupied with the consequences of this new development.

&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;

In truth, Jeeves had no real reason to remain in Mr Wooster's bedroom; he should have actually headed below stairs to perhaps lend a hand with the dinner service, as he usually did as a favour to Seppings, but he had lingered in order to ascertain the outcome of his master's proposal.

Jeeves was busying himself with a few minor tasks when Mr Wooster returned, looking pale and shaken. From the looks of Bertie's sweat-dotted brow, things had not gone smoothly.

'You have missed the cocktail hour, sir. Would you care for some refreshment before the gong is rung?' Jeeves asked, already pouring the brandy into a snifter.

Bertie took the glass from the offered salver without a word, his unblinking eyes still staring at the rug underfoot. The spirit was belted down as if it were a life-saving elixir, and Bertie finally addressed his valet: 'Jeeves. Women.'

'Yes, sir?'

'I mean to say, _women_, Jeeves.'

'Very true, sir.' Jeeves glided across the room and straightened his master's tie, which had drooped from its perfect butterfly shape since it had last been straightened only minutes before. 'If I may say so, sir, I agree with your sentiments.'

'No, Jeeves. I mean, you may. But, well, what I'm trying to ask here, Jeeves, is--' Bertie looked up sharply as Jeeves completed the perfecting of his tie. He suddenly realised that it might not be the _preux_ thing to do, bandying about gossip about what a lady might get up to with her maid in the comfort of the bedroom. Bertie was certain that the act, whatever it was, had not been for prying eyes, and it probably wasn't his place at all to tell anyone about it, even Jeeves.

'Sir?' Jeeves prompted.

But before more could be said, the dinner gong rang out through the house, and Bertie had to hand his snifter over with a sigh.

Dinner was a stilted affair. Bertie was seated next to Beatrice, who was clad in a lovely white gown which only served to highlight her new beet red complexion. The twins were across the table, and Bertie had a suspicion that they were kicking him on purpose. Aunt Dahlia reigned from the head of the table, and Angela and Tuppy Glossop completed the little party.

Conversation between Bertie and Beatrice went something like this that evening:

'Quite nice soup,' Bertie mumbled into his soup bowl.

'Yes, very nice.' Beatrice reached convulsively for her wine glass, her eyes never meeting Bertie's.

Dahlia would attempt to use her power to force more chatter. 'Miss Wemble was such a talented card player in Cannes, Bertie,' she bellowed down the table. 'You've always enjoyed card games, haven't you?'

'Oh, yes.' Bertie pushed a pearl onion across his plate with the tines of his fork.

Dahlia glowered. 'Well, perhaps if you asked her nicely, Miss Wemble would consent to play a hand or two with you later.'

Without actually sharing eye contact with the girl, Bertie turned towards her and said haltingly, 'Would that be amenable to you, Miss Wemble?'

'Certainly, Mr Wooster,' Beatrice said to the air past Bertie's shoulder. She motioned to one of the underbutlers to refill her glass. Bertie soon followed her lead.

After the dishes were cleared away, the ladies were supposed to adjourn to the parlour for a bit of music or whatever ladies got up to after dinner (which Bertie was not inclined to think about at the moment) and the gentlemen were supposed to stay for the port, but Bertie and Beatrice both stood and said:

'I'm afraid I have--'

'--rather a terrible headache and--'

Which was only drawing more attention to their strangeness. But there was nothing for it, and the two legged it as quick as they could, not even looking at each other as they sped up the staircase.

&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;

Normally, Jeeves and Jane would have both come to their respective master and mistress at about the time of retiring for the night; nightclothes needed setting out, nightcaps had to be poured, and instructions for the next day's plans had to be received. However, in light of the day's developments, both Jeeves and Jane thought it prudent to instead spend their energies on gathering information and plotting the course they would take next. Independent of each other, the two servants laid out the nightclothes and left notes in their master's and mistress's bedrooms, stating that they were unable to aid them in their usual nighttime toilette, but that they would be there in the morning with the breakfast tray as normal.

And then, independently, Jane and Jeeves headed below stairs to seek out their most intelligent and resourceful ally: each other.

So when Bertie returned to his bedroom and found that he could not expect Jeeves' wise words that night, and when Beatrice saw she would not have Jane's sympathetic and reassuring presence, both were understandably miffed. So they, independent of each other as well, decided that they would wait until everyone was in bed and then sneak below stairs to find their respective servants.

Unfortunately for our two protagonists, Dahlia had other plans. Plans that included Eustace and Claude.

'It's time for the two of you to divide and conquer,' she told the brothers Gregson as an aside before the ladies were ushered from the dining room. 'I want you to go upstairs. Claude, you take Bertie. Eustace will take Beatrice. Stay on message: I want those young hearts entwined by week's end.'

'But Aunt Dahlia, can't we have some port first?' Claude begged.

'Tuppy will feel awfully lonely if we buzz off so soon,' Eustace pointed out.

Dahlia huffed. 'One drink. And then upstairs!'

So while Bertie and Beatrice were locked away in their bedrooms, planning how and when to best go below stairs and find Jeeves and Jane, Claude and Eustace were clomping up the stairs amid their dual grumbles.

'One glass of port was not nearly enough,' Eustace told his brother. 'This is a three glass job, in my opinion.'

'I don't mind telling you, dear sibling of mine, how wrong this all feels,' Claude muttered as they made the turn on the grand staircase.

'Like I said, Claude, it's a three glass--'

'No, you buffoon. I mean it feels wrong to be trying to tie old Bertie to this Wemble girl. Don't you think they're a bit too, well, alike?' Eustace asked.

'It is a bit eerie, I will admit. They even sneeze in the same horse-like manner.' Claude shuddered. 'But we have no choice. Bertie must get hitched if Aunt Dahlia is to be appeased.'

'I still think it's a rotten deal. And why do I have to take the girl? Won't that be awkward, me waltzing into her room?'

'Her maid will be there. It'll be like having a chaperon.' Claude clapped his twin on the shoulder. 'This is her floor. Godspeed.'

'Yes, same to you, you codfish,' Eustace growled as he stormed off to Miss Wemble's door. Claude plodded on to Bertie's floor.

Of course, when Eustace knocked on Beatrice Wemble's door, she flung it open eagerly, thinking it was Jane, returning at last despite her note saying otherwise. But when she saw it was only one of Bertie's cousins, the look of relief slid from her face, replaced by a dissatisfied frown. 'Oh,erm, Eustace, wasn't it? How may I help you?' she asked.

'Just come for a small chat, Miss Wemble. If you have a moment?'

Beatrice didn't see what else she could do; she was still wearing her gown from dinner, having not wanted to change into her nightclothes before she snuck downstairs, so she couldn't even feign that she was about to go to sleep. She opened her door wider and beckoned Eustace inside. The young man entered with hearty thanks, but faltered when he saw they were alone. 'Oh, is your maid not in?'

'She went on some errand or other. Can I get you a whiskey?' Beatrice began pouring herself one.

'Please. Listen, Miss Wemble, I've come here as a sort of agent for my cousin Bertie.' Eustace seated himself in one of the plush chairs by the empty fireplace. The ladies really did get the most posh rooms, he thought, looking round the place.

The bottle nearly slipped from Beatrice's hand. 'Bertie sent you?' she asked in a shaky voice.

'The thing is, he thinks you're hot stuff, you see.' Eustace examined his fingernails and noted that he would need a manicure soon. 'He's really quite taken with you.'

Beatrice turned, her face creased in confusion and her hands clutching the two glasses of w. and s. Her eyes were clouded. 'When did he tell you this, if you don't mind me asking?'

'Why, just before he sprinted from the dining room,' Eustace answered, giving himself a mental pat on the back for his quick thinking. 'That's why he excused himself, you know. Says you give him the butterflies.'

'The butterflies?' Beatrice repeated.

'Absolutely.' One half of the Gregson twins took a glass from Beatrice's slack hand and sipped at it. 'Won't talk about anything else. I only thought to mention it because, well, Bertie sometimes has a difficult time speaking to beautiful women. Perhaps you could do us a favour and go easy on him? If he sticks his foot in his mouth, understand it's not his fault?'

'And--and he didn't mention anything else to you? About me?' the young lady stuttered.

Eustace blinked at her. 'Just that he's completely potty for you. How about yourself? I know Bertie's a hopeless case, but he's not a bad sort. Could you possibly see yourself, you know, with the big lout?'

'Well, I, that is, I'm sure I don't know.' Beatrice's mind was all in a whirl. How could Bertie want her after what he'd seen that evening? Was he actually intrigued by the thought of what she and Jane were? Did he think he could cure her, as some men had tried in the past? Her stomach churned at the idea, and the drink she was draining didn't seem to be helping at all.

'No need to come to a decision just now, of course,' Eustace said, breaking into her train of thought. 'Only wanted to prepare you for the blow. I mean, the surprise.' He chuckled nervously and belted back the rest of his whiskey. 'I should be going, I think. Thank you for the drink.'

And he beat a hasty retreat, confident that his task had been seen to.

Meanwhile, Claude was having a harder time capturing Bertie's attention. 'Bertie, I have something important to tell you! It's about Miss--'

'Really, Claude, I don't have a spare moment right now,' Bertie hissed from the slit of space that he allowed in his door opening. He was too preoccupied with trying to remember where Jeeves' room might be below stairs; he had no time for cousins.

'But honestly, old thing, I must tell you--'

'My head is just pounding. You can tell me in the morning.' And Bertie slammed the door on him.

The twins met up once again on the landing of the staircase.

'I think I made some good progress with the Wemble girl,' Eustace reported. 'How did you get on?'

Claude lit a guilty cigarette. 'Fairly well, I reckon. Let's go see if Tuppy still has control of the port, shall we?' And as far as the twins were concerned, their job was done.

&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;

At that same time, Jeeves had just ducked into the room that was set aside for visiting maids and found it empty. He cursed to himself and turned to leave again, but caught sight of Seppings striding down the hall. Knowing he would have no way to explain why he was in a female's room, Jeeves shut the door and stayed within; hiding in the empty room was the better tactic, he reasoned. Who knew how long Seppings would be wandering the halls, searching out immoral stable boys and scullery maids? It was best, Jeeves decided, to stay in Miss Roberts' room and await her return.

Besides, he mused as he glanced at the stack of books on her dressing table, he would not be averse to re-reading Plato's _Republic_.

Jane Roberts, meanwhile, was in much the same quandary. She had infiltrated the room for visiting valets in the men's wing only to find Jeeves missing. However, she did not have the luxury of staying to wait for him, as Tuppy Glossop's valet was also sharing the room as evidenced by the valise on the second bed. Jane peeked into the hall to see Seppings bustling by on his rounds, and she knew she would have to time her escape to miss the butler and the other male servants in the halls. Jane watched at the cracked open door, waiting for the right moment to make her move.

In time, Dahlia and the rest of the guests retired to their rooms, and the servants made preparations for their own day's end. Bertie waited in his dark room, still in his shirtsleeves, coiled like a spring and listening for the last door on his floor to close for the night. Beatrice did much the same, throwing her dressing gown over her white dress, since she didn't think that was a good colour for midnight espionage.

Bertie was the first to creep downstairs and through the red baize door. He didn't have a clue in which direction he might find Jeeves, so he took a right on chance. Beatrice was pushing through the baize door only a few moments later, and she took a left. At the same time, Jane was forced to leave Jeeves' room; Glossop's valet could be heard down the hallway and she was certain he would barge in the room soon.

And so it happened that Jane Roberts ran into Bertie Wooster in the darkened hallway. 'Oh, dear me, I am awfully sorry. It's Miss Roberts, isn't it?' Bertie said, peering at her face in the dim light.

'Mr Wooster, could you please keep your voice down?' Jane murmured.

A few yards down the hall, Jeeves lifted his head from the book he was reading. He knew his master's voice anywhere, and this was the last place it should have been. He crept into the hall as well, moving with all due stealth towards the sound.

Beatrice, to her credit, was moving so carefully down the hall in the opposite direction that she was able to spot Seppings heading her way and was able to reverse course quite speedily.

'Really, Jane,' Bertie continued chatting, 'I'm only looking for Jeeves. Do you have any idea which way I might find him? I haven't a bally clue.'

'You're not supposed to be down here, sir,' Jane warned. Her face flamed as she recalled what this gentleman had witnessed earlier. 'And you're certainly not supposed to be in the female staff's wing.'

It was then that Jeeves hovered onto the scene. 'Sir? Are you in need of some assistance?' he asked. 'You really should not be here, sir.'

'Oh, Jeeves! Are you in the female wing too? I was just looking for--'

'Oi!' a whispered shout came from behind them. All three turned to see Beatrice rushing towards them like the hounds of Hades were on her heels. 'Seppings! He's right behind me.'

Both Jane and Jeeves surveyed the surrounding area and quickly came to the same conclusion: there was only one available hiding place.

'Into the cupboard,' Jeeves ordered. 'Ladies first, of course.'

He held the door for Beatrice and Jane, and then hurried Bertie inside as well before squeezing his own frame into the small space and shutting the door behind him. It was a very tight fit in the cupboard. All four inhabitants held their breath as the measured tread of the butler came closer and closer.

Beatrice, unable to stop herself from shaking, curled her fingers round her maid's thigh. Jane stiffened and gave her mistress a stern swat of her hand, but unfortunately she hit Bertie in the ribs as well. Bertie had to muffle his cry by clapping a hand over his mouth, and Jeeves' hand joined his over his lips just to be safe.

The four of them froze as Seppings stopped outside the cupboard. His shadow flickered under the door, and they heard him cough right on the other side. There was a snick of a lighter and the faint smell of cigarette smoke.

Bally hell, Bertie thought with a roll of his eyes. What a place for a smoke break.

Jeeves was pressed rather close against his back, and Beatrice was wedged rather unpleasantly across his front. Bertie attempted to wriggle into a more comfortable position, but apparently he brushed against something rather delicate, because Beatrice gave a sharp gasp and Jane's hand was immediately wrapped round his wrist and crushing it in a dashed powerful grip. Bertie tried to remedy the situation by backing away as much as he could, but this put him in even more contact with Jeeves' front, and he could feel the valet sucking in a large quantity of air at the touch.

'Sorry,' Bertie said as quietly as he could beneath his and Jeeves' hands, which were still clamped over his mouth. Jeeves must have felt the movement of his lips, because he nodded a bit against his shoulder.

Jane finally dropped Bertie's pained wrist and the four of them struggled to remain still and silent. Seppings' shadow moved right, then left, but did not disappear completely. They watched it carefully, but it remained right there.

Bertie was beginning to feel a bit faint. The close quarters, combined with the strong scents from Beatrice's perfume and Jeeves' own spicy masculine aftershave were beginning to go to his head. He closed his eyes to try and get his bearings, but his knees wobbled and he swayed a little. Jeeves caught him about the waist and held him tight.

Jane gazed knowingly at Jeeves in the dark cupboard. The valet returned her stare with a glare of his own. Beatrice remained impervious to the eye-beams and patted Bertie's cheek to comfort him. Bertie gave her a watery yet reassuring smile.

More glares were shared on the servant end of things, and blushes began painting the cheeks of the lady and gentleman.

Finally, Seppings began to shove off, his shoes clicking a military beat into the distance. After a few moments of breathless silence, the whole lot stumbled out of the cupboard and into the empty hallway.

'I believe I should escort you back to your room, Miss Wemble,' Jane said.

Jeeves raised an eyebrow. 'And I shall do the same for you, Mr Wooster,' he said in an icy tone.

[Continue to Part 2.](http://triedunture.livejournal.com/487875.html#cutid1)


	2. triedunture: Jooster fic: Jeeves and the Female Doubles (Part 2)

  
  
  
**Entry tags:** |   
[fic](http://triedunture.livejournal.com/tag/fic), [jeeves](http://triedunture.livejournal.com/tag/jeeves)  
  
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_**Jooster fic: Jeeves and the Female Doubles (Part 2)**_  
  
&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;

As soon as the bedroom door was shut behind them, Bertie turned to Jeeves and blurted out, 'Jeeves, I'm afraid there's been a complication in the current circs.'

'Indeed, sir?' Jeeves picked up Bertie's white dinner jacket from where it had been cast over the back of a chair and hung it properly in the wardrobe. 'Am I to understand, sir, that your proposal of marriage was not accepted by Miss Wemble?'

'Erm, well, I haven't actually gotten round to the proposal, Jeeves.' Bertie lit a surreptitious cigarette. 'We were, ah, interrupted before I got the words out, you see.'

'Perhaps you can try again tomorrow, sir,' Jeeves said, though in his mind, he hoped Bertie was interrupted then as well, and a thousand days after that.

'I would, except,' Bertie said while sitting down on the edge of the mattress, 'now I'm not so certain I should be proposing to Miss Wemble, Jeeves.'

Jeeves materialised by Bertie's feet and began unlacing his shoes for him. 'Really, sir?'

'Jeeves, if you could please refrain from saying "really, sir?" in that soupy tone of yours, it would be most appreciated.'

'I apologise, sir. I merely wished to state my desire to hear the rest of your tale.' Jeeves removed first the left shoe, then began working on the right. 'Please continue.'

'Well, I can't divulge all the details to you, Jeeves; it wouldn't be sporting of me, you see. But I realised something about Miss Wemble that might cause me to consider her a less than ideal helpmeet of the lifetime variety.' Bertie smoked his gasper and watched Jeeves secret his shoes into the wardrobe. 'Mind you, I could be completely wrong about the girl, but I'm almost positive I'm not.'

Jeeves closed the wardrobe door and, for a fleeting moment, wished he were alone so that he might lean his forehead against the cool wood and take a deep breath. Instead, he said, 'Does this trait of Miss Wemble's, whether real or imagined, affect the amount of respect and admiration you have for the lady, sir?'

Bertie chewed this question over and finally came to the conclusion. 'No. No, I don't think it does. But it's a very peculiar thingummy that, well-- It's difficult to explain, Jeeves. I certainly wouldn't give a toss about it, but Miss Wemble would. If it came to marital agreements between us, I mean.' Bertie frowned up at his valet. 'Do you see what I mean, Jeeves?'

'I'm afraid not, sir. Perhaps it would be prudent to relate the specifics of the situation to me so that I might bend my mind to a more pleasing solution.'

Bertie faltered, thinking of that strange tableau he had accidentally walked into, with the two women in bed together. It would be so easy, he mused, to lay the whole blasted thing at Jeeves' doorstep and let him sort it out. But no, it was a matter of honour, and Bertie couldn't say.

'Very sorry, Jeeves, but I just can't say.'

Jeeves turned to face his master. His heart wished only to guide Mr Wooster away from this matrimonial prospect, but if these facts were indeed correct, then it sounded as if Miss Wemble was a perfectly reasonable choice for a mate. Perhaps she would give his master the love and attention which he so deserved; perhaps she could make him happy. A muscle in Jeeves' jaw ticked once, unseen.

'The lady appears to be well-suited to you, sir,' Jeeves said with a small cough. 'I would advocate reflection on your part. If this issue is something that only Miss Wemble would care for, then surely you must leave the decision to her in regards to your future engagement.'

It wasn't exactly the sort of thing Bertie wanted to hear; it made his insides feel all terribly squirmy to think about marrying Beatrice now. Then again, if she was involved with her maid, perhaps Beatrice would welcome the chance to marry. Bertie tapped his cigarette against the side of an ash tray and tried desperately to see this genius idea to the end:

It would go like this, Bertie reasoned. He and Bee could get married, maybe purchase a big house in the city, and live there in relative peace. Bee could bring that maid of hers, and surely he would be allowed to keep Jeeves on as his valet. Why, if they worked it properly, they might even have separate apartments within the house. It would be absolutely brilliant: a wife that he'd never have to actually see!

And in return, Bee could collect her inheritance, keep her lover, and cast off all the angry aunts that were baying for her to find a husband. It was perfect.

Bertie stood in his socks and proclaimed, 'You're right, Jeeves. I _will_ ask her to marry me.'

Jeeves turned as if to leave, but also to ensure Bertie wouldn't see his mask slip into hurt disappointment. 'Very good, sir. Good night, sir.'

&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;

As soon as the bedroom door was shut behind them, Bee turned to Jane and blurted out, 'I think that loony Wooster chap is going to propose to me!'

Jane took her mistress' dressing gown and began working on the dozens of buttons on the back of her dress. 'Indeed, miss? Is Mr Wooster perhaps possessed of some form of short-term memory loss? For surely he has not forgotten what he saw this evening in this very room.'

Beatrice sighed and held her blonde hair out of Jane's way. 'I don't know! I only know that after dinner, one of Bertie's cousins came to speak to me and said that Bertie had told him just then that he was in love with me. Well, I mean to say!'

Jane stiffened. 'Did young Mr Gregson indicate if Mr Wooster had mentioned our illicit liaison?'

'No, no, he made no mention of it. I don't think Bertie would tell anyone. He's got some very charming ideas about what being a gentleman means.' Beatrice smiled; Jane could see it in the mirror.

'Really, miss?' she asked with a modicum of coldness.

'Jane, I wish you wouldn't say "really, miss?" in that Arctic manner,' Bee admonished. 'Now where was I?'

'You believe Mr Wooster will propose marriage, miss?'

'Yes!' Beatrice allowed Jane to slip her unbuttoned dress from her shoulders, and she stepped out of the circle of silk. 'I really think he might be certifiable. He saw us together, Jane. Surely he's not so daft as to not understand what that means. A complete imbecile could see that I'm not in the man-catching business.'

'Very true, miss,' Jane said in a dark undertone. She turned to hang up the white gown, her splendid mind in a whirl. If one supposed that the Wooster menace was not a complete fool (which Jane was still not sure about), then there was only one more explanation for his amorous intentions towards Miss Wemble: blackmail. How could Beatrice refuse him when he knew her horrible secret?

Jane forced her hands not to shake as she closed the wardrobe doors. It was very likely, she mused, that Mr Wooster would threaten to expose them should Beatrice not give in to his demands. The thought made Jane's blood boil, but she knew she needed to remain calm so as not to upset Bee. A chilling thought worked its way into her brain. Perhaps a traditional marriage was the correct path for Beatrice. She would have her complete inheritance, the stability of a family, and a chance to have children.

No, Jane thought with firm resolve, Wooster was a scoundrel, and Jane was going to dispatch him with all due speed, just as she had done with countless suitors in the past.

'Mind you,' Bee continued chatting as she slipped into her nightclothes, 'if I were in the man-catching business, I suppose I could do worse than Bertie. He's a passable tenor, you know.'

Jane sniffed and proceeded to wish her mistress good night. She turned to leave, but Beatrice grasped her wrist gently.

'Give me a small goodnight kiss?' she asked, her wide blue eyes twinkling with mischief.

Jane suppressed a melancholy sigh; Beatrice was too lovely. She would fight as long as she needed to remain at her side. Jane leaned in and pressed her lips to her mistress' warm temple, to her cheek, to her neck and finally her lips. The kiss was much more wanting than a hundred of their previous goodnight kisses, and Beatrice seemed to note it. She returned her maid's passion, but when they broke their embrace, she asked, 'Is something the matter, Jane? You feel sad.'

Only Beatrice could divine the emotions she kept deep within her breast. She gave her mistress a glimmer of a smile at the corner of her lips and said, 'I only wish I did not have to leave you tonight. I will see you in the morning, miss.'

'All right. I love you, old girl.' Beatrice gave her one last peck on the nose and turned to burrow into her bed.

Jane shut off the light and left.

&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;

The next day, Bertie awoke resolved to take Beatrice aside and explain his grand plan to her. He was eager to get it done with as quickly as possible; in his experience, leaving things to be done later only gave things more time to be completely ruined. So he inhaled the breakfast that Jeeves brought him, bathed in record time, and had Jeeves shoving him into the day's togs as if it were a race.

'Jeeves, I can't yet tell you why, but if Miss Wemble accepts my proposal today, I am going to be a very happy man,' he said.

'Yes, sir,' Jeeves said, swallowing his protests and instead brushing the lint from Bertie's jacket. 'Congratulations will naturally be in order.'

'I hope you understand, Jeeves, that if all goes according to plan, I expect you to remain firmly ensconced in the capacity of my valet.'

'Sir?' Jeeves stopped brushing. 'I have told you many times in the past, sir: I do not work for married men.'

'Yes, yes, I know, I know.' Bertie waved a hand airily and adjusted his tie. 'But the circs. would be different in this case, Jeeves. Again, I can't go into details, but once all is settled as I hope it will be, the implications will become clear.' He clapped his hands. 'Right! Off I go. Wish me luck.'

'Good luck, sir,' Jeeves said. Though when the door shut, he amended, 'In your failings.'

It was approaching noon when Bertie made it downstairs, and he thought to go directly to Miss Wemble. However, Aunt Dahlia slowed his progress. She wanted help wrangling the twins into control, as they had played a practical joke on Anatole and needed to offer profuse apologies before the French master could be mollified. Then Bertie was accosted by Tuppy, who wanted some advice in calming Angela, who he may or may not have called an ungraceful elephant on the tennis court. And then after Bertie got away from Tuppy, Angela cornered him, looking for a sympathetic ear.

All in all, it was already getting near dinnertime when Bertie finally spotted Beatrice wandering alone in the garden.

'What-ho, Bee!' he called in a chummy way.

'Bertie, how do you do? Isn't this a fine day?' Beatrice asked, quizzically taking in his sunny demeanour.

'Sorry, no time for pleasantries,' Bertie said. 'I've got to ask you something, Beatrice, and you're going to think it's a bit thick at first.'

'Oh, Lord, you're not going to--?'

'I think we should get married,' Bertie declared.

Beatrice sighed. 'Bertie, you really are a Grade A ass.'

'Wait, just listen. It's not what you're imagining.' And Bertie began explaining all to her, pouring out the details of his strange plan, complete with the divided house.

It took awhile for Bertie to get the whole thing out, so they wandered over to sit on a stone bench with Bertie still babbling away. Beatrice sat listening with rapt attention. When Bertie was done, she said, 'I say. It really would solve a few problems, wouldn't it?'

Bertie beamed. 'And I thought it all up without a speck of help from Jeeves.'

'And you truly don't mind what happens between Jane and me?'

'No, I think it's topping! Why, if I were a girl, I certainly couldn't be bothered with chaps. They're all wrong for you. So what do you think of my proposal?'

'I think it's a corker of an idea, I really do. Oh, Bertie! You would do all that to keep me safe?' Beatrice gasped.

There was an embarrassed shrug from Bertie's direction. 'Well, you know. Gentleman and all that. I've done plenty of loony things for friends before, and if this would make life easier for the both of us, then it's all gravy, what?'

'I have to ask Jane what she thinks, of course. It's her decision as well.'

'Certainly, certainly.'

'And we'd have to have a vote on where the household would be established. The closer to Piccadilly--'

'--the better! I completely agree,' Bertie said with a smile.

Beatrice felt a huge grin spread across her map. 'Oh, Bertie. This is wonderful! Thank you.' And quite forgetting herself, she leaned closer to plant a kiss on his flaming cheek. 'Marrying you would be just the ticket.'

While Bertie demurred in a bashful way, neither he nor Bee noticed the dark shadow peeking round the hedgerow some yards off. Jane was close enough, however, to hear her mistress' last words and see the kiss shared between the two young people. Her heart, which had been rolled up in mothballs before making the acquaintance of Miss Beatrice Gertrude Wemble of the Shropshire Wembles, was now shattered into so many little bits that Jane wasn't sure it was even worth mothballing again. She turned from the scene of what could only be budding love and smoothed out her white apron. She walked back towards Brinkley with her head held high, and only the tiniest bit of moisture gathering at her eyes.

&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;

Jeeves was awaiting his master's return in Mr Wooster's room for some time. The dinner gong would be rung at any moment, he knew, and still Mr Wooster was not there to dress. Jeeves had already laid out the white tie and studded the shirt. He supposed it would be another one for the record books.

Finally, Bertie burst into the bedroom and chortled, 'She said yes, Jeeves! Well, a few things need clearing up, but it's full steam ahead on the Wooster-Wemble match.'

It was only by his rigourous training in keeping an impassive expression that Jeeves did not reveal his emotions at this news. With his heart already tearing itself in half, he said in a rough, throaty voice, 'My deepest felicitations, sir.'

'Good Lord, but this is going to be fantastic. No aunts shouting in my ear about marrying anymore! I'll already have been.' Bertie was struggling to get his jacket free from his arms. 'The gong hasn't rung yet, has it?' He stripped off his tie and shirt.

'No, sir, but I fear we have little time.' Jeeves began the abbreviated process of dressing his master, shoving him into his starched shirt.

'Dash it, but I wanted to tell you all about--' But Bertie was cut off by the first sound of the gong. Jeeves stood by, holding the dress trousers open for Bertie's legs. 'Blast, I'll have to tell you after dinner. On with the shoes, Jeeves, the shoes!'

Jeeves, even as broken-hearted as he was, would not allow Bertie to run off before fixing his bow tie into a perfect butterfly. He did so carefully, thinking that perhaps this would be the last time he would see his master' bright blue eyes so closely. For Jeeves certainly did not intend to stay in the service of a married man, let alone one who held his heart unknowingly in his fine pianist's hands. With the tie completed, Jeeves stepped back.

'It is done, sir.'

'Right! I will see you after the nosebag business is over with.' And Bertie fled out of the bedroom and down the stairs.

Jeeves stood silently for a moment, contemplating his fate and cursing his illogical heart which had cleaved to Bertram Wilberforce Wooster from the start. There was nothing to be done about it, he thought; he needed to go for a quiet walk. A few rounds of the garden with the stars as his only witnesses might give him the space he needed to think.

He entered the garden to find that the sun was just finishing its descent below the horizon, and the sky was tinged a midnight blue. The grounds were empty of both servants and guests, as everyone else was either eating dinner or serving it. Jeeves made a quiet circuit of the garden path, his hands clasped behind his back and his mind cast deep in thought.

As he turned a sharp corner, however, Jeeves perceived that he was not alone. A small noise, like that of a lamb coughing on a far-off hill, floated to his ears, and he found the source slumped against a plinth that held a statue of Pan, her knees drawn up to her chest.

'Miss Roberts?' Jeeves took in the lady's maid and her rumpled appearance. A few strands had escaped her normally immaculate bun of black hair, and her face was damp with tears. Jeeves suddenly felt very foolish for stumbling upon the woman like this; it was obvious she also wished to be alone. 'I am sorry, miss. Please excuse me.' And Jeeves turned to go.

'Wait, Mr Jeeves,' Jane said in measured tones, stretching out her legs. She folded a handkerchief that she had been using to dab at her face and slipped it back into her apron. 'You may join me, if you wish. There is much I must discuss with you.'

Jeeves looked askance at the bare ground that Jane was sitting on, but the maid shot him a look. 'It's quite grassy here, so I do not think you will have cause to fear the dirt, Mr Jeeves.'

The valet finally lowered himself to sit beside Jane, and they both leaned back against the marble plinth.

'So you know of the newly formed engagement between our employers?' Jeeves asked in a low voice.

'Yes. Miss Wemble has not told me herself, but I overheard the arrangement being made.' Jane fisted her hands in her apron.

'Is your emotional upset due to some suspicion that you will be dismissed?' Jeeves asked.

'Is yours?' Jane shot back.

'I have no idea what you mean.' Jeeves turned his head, his stuffed-frog look firmly in place, and stared out over the rolling grounds.

'Mr Jeeves, I have lived among servants my whole life. You may be a very good valet, but even you have chinks in your armour.' Jane reached into her apron's pocket once more and retrieved a small silver flask. 'Would you care to join me? I'm not usually a drinker, but I don't see any recourse at the moment.'

Jeeves hesitated. 'Alcohol has an unusual sedative effect on me, I'm afraid. However,' he sighed, 'I, too, do not see any recourse.'

Jane uncapped the flask and took a long swig before passing it to Jeeves, who followed suit. He handed it back to Jane, who stared at it for a moment.

'I've kept this trinket ever since Miss Wemble and I were caught in a rainstorm in southern Spain. She was shaking with cold, the poor girl. I bought this from a man in the village and filled it with brandy. I kept her warm--' Jane's breath hitched, and she reached for her handkerchief again. 'I am sorry, Mr Jeeves. I am rarely given to tears, but I cannot stop them, it seems.'

'Miss Roberts,' Jeeves said slowly, 'I see now that our situations are more complicated than I originally assumed.' The valet gave himself a mental tongue-lashing. How could he have been so blind before? The two women were obvious lovers, and Bertie must have known somehow. That was the secret he would not tell. 'My master made this discovery on accident, I suppose?'

Jane nodded miserably. 'Three years of utmost caution, and I didn't bother to check the lock on the door that one day.' She drank another sip from her flask. 'How can you stand that employer of yours? He is using this knowledge to blackmail Miss Wemble into marriage, I am sure of it.'

Jeeves bristled. 'Mr Wooster may be many things, but he is no blackmailer. I would be willing to bet my life on it.'

'Nevertheless, the only other explanation is that Miss Wemble has grown . . . dissatisfied with me, and--' Jane trailed off as more tears tracked down her pale cheeks.

'Please, Miss Roberts, pull yourself together,' Jeeves chided. 'Whatever the reason behind this insane decision, your employer will need your strength.'

'It's all very well for you to speak about strength, Mr Jeeves,' Jane growled. 'He doesn't even know you love him, does he?'

Jeeves drew back. 'That has nothing to do with the subject at hand.'

'It has everything to do with it.' The maid took another drink. 'What was your plan for the long term, Mr Jeeves? Did you think you would serve as his valet for decade after decade, continuously dispatching any female suitors, until you were both old and grey? Did you assume that what you felt would eventually fade? If you had been a real man, Jeeves, and told Mr Wooster all, then perhaps we wouldn't be in this terrible situation!'

Jeeves allowed a small pause to pass them by before taking the flask from Jane's hands. 'This terrible situation proves, Roberts, that even if I told him of my feelings, it would make no difference. He is not like us. He would never return my affections.' He drank deeply from the flask before pulling a dissatisfied face; scotch whiskey had never been his spirit of choice.

The two servants lapsed into silence, passing the flask between them instead of words. When the level of liquid in the little vessel began to run dry, Jane turned to Jeeves and asked, 'What will happen to you now? Will you resign immediately?'

'I see no alternative,' Jeeves intoned, his unfocused eyes gazing up at the stars. 'I cannot watch him woo Miss Wemble. I will not.'

Jane heaved a heavy sigh. 'We are both so alone in the world now.' Her head, which felt dizzy and full, rested briefly against Jeeves' shoulder.

Jeeves looked down at the grave woman beside him and whispered, 'Perhaps not so alone.'

Jane raised her eyes to his, and Jeeves bent down to her, and they kissed.

And then promptly broke apart, Jane spitting emphatically into the grass and Jeeves wiping a hand across his mouth.

'Let's never do that again, shall we?'

'Yes, I quite agree.'

&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;

After dinner, Bertie and Beatrice went to go find their respective valet and maid so that they might share the good news of their planned marriage, but of course Jane and Jeeves were nowhere to be found in the house.

'Bee, have you seen Jeeves?' Bertie asked when he ran into the girl in the east wing. 'I can't find him anywhere.'

'No, have you seen Jane? She wasn't in my room and the chamber maid says she hasn't been below stairs in hours.' Beatrice worried her lower lip. 'Where could she be?'

'They might have gone into town for something. Perhaps we should go to the garage and make sure the cars aren't missing?'

And so Bertie and Beatrice struck out across the lawn towards the garage. Bertie insisted they cut through the garden to save time, and so they did.

After a few moments of walking in silence, Bertie blurted out a question that had been bothering him all day. 'So, Bee, how exactly did you and Jane get round to--? Well, you know. Was it you who broached the subject?'

'Oh, goodness, no. It was all Jane's doing. She was very clever about the whole thing. Had it figured out miles ahead of me, I'm afraid.' Beatrice picked her way past some bramble while Bertie lent her a hand. 'She'd been my maid for a few years and knew I didn't particularly wish to be married. Jane ended up stating her intentions quite plainly, and I must say I was all for it.' Beatrice shot Bertie a secret smile. 'How about yourself and Jeeves? Which one was the first egg to crack?'

'What? What in bally--? What?' Bertie sputtered.

Beatrice frowned. 'Oh, are you two not--?'

'No! No, I should say not. Jeeves is a paragon of gentlemanly, erm, gentleness. He's above such things.' Bertie shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and stared moodily at his shoes as they passed over the ground.

'But you're not above it, Bertie?' Bee asked with all the tact she could muster. 'Is that it?'

Bertie shrugged in a dejected fashion. 'It's all dashed no matter how you slice it. It's the reason why I hatched this idea to marry you, of course. Just because I'll never have the servant I love doesn't mean you shouldn't. At least this way, one of us isn't miserable, what?'

'Oh, Bertie.' Beatrice pressed her hand to her own heart, touched. 'Forgive me for saying so, but you're an absolute lamb.' They turned a corner. 'I don't think I've ever met a more friendly sort than you.'

'Thanks awWAHH!'

This last bit was said as Bertie tripped over a woman's legs. What women's legs were doing out in the middle of the garden at night was beyond him, and he had to get his bearings as he lifted himself from the grass.

'Oh, Jane!' Beatrice knelt by her maid, who, it turned out, was the owner of the legs.

Bertie stood with a grunt. 'I'm just fine, thank you, Bee. No damage, it seems,' he drawled.

'Jane, what's happened?' Beatrice tapped her maid's cheek lightly, and the grey eyes fluttered open a bit.

'Good evening, miss,' Jane slurred.

Bertie took a step backwards and found himself once more tripping over a prone servant: this time, Jeeves, sprawled out on the ground beneath a statue of a goat boy or something.

'Jeeves, who the devil did this to you?' Bertie cried. 'Uncle Tom will be livid if there really were thieves and vagrants roaming about.'

'I assure you, sir,' Jeeves said, his head lolling to the side, 'this is purely self-inflicted.'

'Bertie.' Bertie turned to see Beatrice holding an empty flask, shaking its open mouth upside-down. 'They're completely foxed!'

'That's impossible,' Bertie said. 'Jeeves doesn't drink.'

'Correction, sir,' Jeeves mumbled, holding one wavering finger in the air. 'I _shouldn't_ drink.' His arm fell back down at his side, and he seemed to fall asleep.

'Perfect. This is just wonderful. You're the one with the brains, Jeeves, and you've gone and soused them all.' Bertie slung his arms round Jeeves' frame and pulled him into a more proper sitting position. 'Bee, we've got to get them inside. This would be hell to explain if Seppings wandered out here and found them like this.'

'All right, Jane, you heard the man. Let's get up, darling.' Beatrice tried to help her maid to her feet, but the stubborn woman shook off her helping hand.

'I'm quite capable of walking on my own, miss,' Jane said, just before she fell back to the ground in a dead faint.

Bee called to Bertie for help, and they switched servants. Soon Bertie was balancing an unconscious maid in his arms while Beatrice was attempting to help Jeeves to his feet. 'Lord, you're a big one, aren't you, Jeeves?' she muttered as she slung his arm round her shoulder. 'Come on now. One foot in front of the other. Bertie, have you got Jane?'

'Erm, yes.' But Bertie struggled to stay abreast of even the slow-moving Jeeves-Wemble pair; Jane wasn't a heavy woman, but she was incredibly tall, which made handling a bit difficult. Bertie yelped as he accidentally brushed her head through a hedge. Bee turned to glare at his clumsiness, and Bertie defended himself, saying, 'Oh, she hasn't even noticed.'

It was decided between the two more sober members of the party that Jane and Jeeves couldn't be taken below stairs to their rooms because, for one thing, they still had no clue where those rooms could be found, and also Seppings just might finally blow a gasket if he saw two paragons of propriety three sheets to the tonsils. Or whatever the thigummy was; Bertie and Bee couldn't quite remember.

'Nothing for it,' Bertie puffed as they neared the french doors. 'We'll have to take them back to our rooms for the night.' He stepped inside on soft feet, lest someone catch them entering swathed in inebriated servants.

'Right.' Beatrice attempted to fit both herself and Jeeves through the door, but Jeeves' shoulders were too wide. She groaned in frustration. 'Bertie, why the devil am I carrying Jeeves? He's about three solid tons!'

'What, would you like to trade?' Bertie swung round, nearly clipping a vase with Jane's feet.

'Yes, I would.'

'Fine.'

'Fine.'

'See if I ever marry you now,' Bertie mumbled as he juggled Jane and Jeeves in his arms.

Finally, they made it through the library, down the main hall and up the staircase. Bertie was dripping with sweat; Jeeves really was nothing but dead weight. But Beatrice wasn't faring much better with her maid. After a few false starts and bumped elbows and knees, they made it up to Bee's floor.

Bertie helped her get Jane into bed, having leaned Jeeves against a column in the hall for safekeeping. 'Are you sure you'll be all right?' Bertie asked before he left.

'Oh, yes. What Jane needs now is some tender loving whatsit.' Beatrice brushed a lock of dark hair from her sleeping maid's brow. 'I suppose Jeeves will too.' She raised a coy little eyebrow at Bertie.

The Wooster stammered. 'Well, I never-- I mean to say, what on earth-- I'm just going to put the man to bed!'

'Oh, I'm sure you will,' Bee teased.

'I normally wish a lady a good night,' Bertie sniffed, 'but as I don't see a proper one hanging about, I will just leave.'

'Good night, then, Bertie.' Beatrice grinned.

'Good night,' Bertie returned automatically, and then spun on his heel.

Beatrice sighed and began working on the buckles of Jane's sensible shoes. While she was dropping said articles to the floor, the maid roused slightly. 'Oh, miss,' she mumbled, 'I believe I've made a tactical error in regards to this evening's activities.'

'Hush now, Jane. You'll make your head spin if you try to do much thinking,' Bee chided.

Jane opened her bleary eyes and took in her surroundings in abject misery. 'Miss, you do not need to tend to me. Please, allow me to go below stairs and--'

'Nonsense.' Beatrice slipped off her own heels and slid into bed, still fully clothed. She folded Jane in her arms and pressed her lips to her girl's ear. 'Sleep now, and in the morning everything will be much better. Except for your head, poor darling.'

'Thank you, miss,' Jane whispered in return, and shut her eyes.

&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;

Meanwhile, Bertie was finding manservant manhandling much more difficult then he'd imagined. He returned to Jeeves' side to find him curled into a little valet-ball at the base of the column he'd left him leaning on. Bertie levered him upright once more, begging Jeeves quietly to wake up for just a tick.

'Come on, old thing, I need a little bit of help getting you upstairs. Can you crack open the baby blues for me, Jeeves?' he whispered in his valet's ear.

Jeeves obeyed the command, albeit very slowly. 'Sir,' he said, 'it would appear that I am-- It shames me to say, sir, that I have been--'

Bertie nodded. 'Yes, you're officially shattered, I know. I'd have to have no sense of smell at all not to notice the aroma of spirits on you, Jeeves.'

'I am sorry, sir,' Jeeves said softly. 'The circumstances were beyond my control.'

'Apology accepted, if you can possibly find it within you to walk a short distance.'

Jeeves endeavoured to do so, and with Bertie guiding him, they managed to reach the bedroom on the next floor. Bertie parked his valet against the wall while he opened the door, and Jeeves seemed to realise where they were.

'Sir, I should go. I will be missed below stairs.' It was a testament to just how tight Jeeves was that he attempted to move from the wall on his own. Bertie had only to place a hand on his chest to stop him in his wobbly footsteps.

'No. You can tell Seppings that I was the drunk one, and that you had to tend to me all night,' Bertie said, his eyes locked on where his hand spread across Jeeves' starched shirt.

Jeeves looked down at his master's hand as well, his face taking on a sad expression. 'I cannot stay here, sir. I should not stay here.'

'I insist.' Bertie attempted to recover his jovial tone. 'Now, we must get out of the hallway before Tuppy overhears us, what? In you go.'

He ushered Jeeves into the bedroom and sat him down on the mattress. Considering how turnabout would be fair play, Bertie knelt to unlace Jeeves' shoes while the valet blinked sleepily down at him. The silence was oppressive, and Bertie soon cleared his throat and asked, 'So what on earth caused you and Miss Roberts to have a go at the scotch like that, Jeeves? I was under the impression that you rarely imbibed, and never to excess.'

'Miss Roberts had suffered something of a shock, sir. She required an understanding ear, and I was told that alcoholic consumption was compulsory at such an event.' Jeeves paused and bit his lower lip. 'I have no idea what I just said, sir.'

Bertie laughed at how incredibly lost his normally unflappable valet looked. He managed to get both shoes off Jeeves' feet, and then he stood to take hold of the black suit coat. 'You were saying Miss Roberts was drowning some sorrow or other, Jeeves. What's wrong with her? She doesn't strike me as the type of woman who is easily shaken.'

'She is in love,' Jeeves said, his watery eyes tracking listlessly along the duvet cover, 'and the object of her affections does not return the sentiment.'

Bertie stopped short, suit coat in hand. 'What?' he snapped. 'What do you mean?'

Jeeves shook his head. 'I've already divulged too much, sir. But the truth of the matter is, Miss Roberts is in a tragic situation. I admit I felt sympathetic for the lady.' Jeeves gave a sigh and dropped flat to the mattress in a manner that reminded Bertie of a teenaged schoolboy. 'The heart is a strange thing,' Jeeves murmured as he stared at the ceiling, his arms flung over his head.

The young master's mind was all a whirl. So the maid was in love with someone else? Was Bee nothing to her? It certainly complicated his grand scheme if Miss Roberts didn't actually wish to live happily ever after with her mistress. Although it would still solve Bertie's aunt problem.

A small whimper from Jeeves arrested Bertie's thoughts. The valet now had an arm thrown over his eyes, as if the lights bothered him. 'Sir, I'm afraid I must sleep now. I can feel slumber tugging at the corners of my mind, if I am not already dreaming.'

Bertie slung the suit coat over a chair and smiled. 'This would be a ruddy dream, wouldn't it? Being tipsy in the young master's quarters?'

Jeeves moved his forearm slightly to peer up at Bertie. 'I have encountered worse dreams, sir.'

What could the Wooster do but fidget under that intense gaze? 'Right. Well, let's just get you comfortable and you can drop off as quick as you like.' Bertie leant forward and guided Jeeves' massive frame into the more traditional position of in the bed rather than across it. He also undid Jeeves' black tie and flicked it over the chair with his coat. 'Would you like me to take your waistcoat too, Jeeves?' Bertie fiddled with the sheets. 'Jeeves?'

A snore met his question.

Bertie looked upon his sleeping valet with fondness, if not a little incredulity. He'd never actually seen Jeeves sleep before, and Bertie had half-believed that he didn't need to sleep like a normal person, but could instead be plugged into an electrical socket to be powered up for the next day. Clearly, this proved him wrong. Jeeves slept like a log, his face slack and his limbs thrown in every direction. Bertie turned off the light, allowing only the pale moonlight from the window to light his way.

Bertie slipped into the _salle de bain_ to change into pyjamas and brush his teeth. He was feeling rather cosy right up until the point where he realised he would need to share the bed with Jeeves. Then he stared at the overly full bed and twisted his head this way and that, attempting to find a slot for the Wooster body amid all the valet limbs. Bertie never had very high marks in geometry, and he ended up shaking Jeeves by the shoulder.

'Jeeves, old man,' he whispered, 'would you mind if I scooted my way into bed?'

'Certainly not, sir. Please make yourself comfortable,' Jeeves mumbled in what Bertie suspected was half-sleep. And then, somewhat inexplicably, Jeeves said, 'I enjoy the mangoes in the afternoons.'

'Yes, well, who doesn't? Now Jeeves, in order for me to get into bed, you're going to have to move over a tad. I hate to disrupt your shut-eye, but it's rather imperative.'

Jeeves squeezed his eyes shut even more so that they crinkled at the corners; Bertie wondered if this was a display of the massive concentration required to roll over. But no. Jeeves stayed exactly where he was.

'Jeeves?' Bertie prodded, leaning over the bed so he could speak directly into his sozzled valet's ear. 'You're taking up an awful lot of space in the bed, Jeeves.'

Nothing.

Bertie was nearly resigned to perhaps snagging a single pillow and curling up on the floor for the night. At least it would be less of a torture-chamber experience, he reasoned, than sleeping next to an incapacitated Jeeves. Down that road lay only madness as far as he could tell. So, floor it was.

Except Jeeves moved rather suddenly. His arm shot out from under the bedclothes like a snake, and he had grasped Bertie's wrist and yanked him down onto the bed before the young master could utter so much as an 'I say!' Within the blink of an eye, Bertie found himself curled up not on the floor, but in bed next to his valet.

'There is ample space, sir,' Jeeves yawned against his neck, 'as you can see.'

'I don't know if I would call it ample,' Bertie squeaked. In fact, he was very close to Jeeves, close enough to feel the heat of his skin-warmed clothing and to smell the fresh grass he had been lying in.

'You may call it what you like, sir.' Jeeves gave a contented sigh as he rearranged his limbs once more, and Bertie's eyes widened to roughly the size of kittens as he found himself falling closer to Jeeves as the mattress dipped in the middle. It was like trying to sleep in a bally canoe.

Bertie stayed stiff and unblinking for several long seconds. Jeeves' breaths seemed to even out in the slow rhythm of sleep, and Bertie beat his head softly against a nearby pillow for want of a wall; only a complete eunuch could sleep next to a man this warm and smelling this Jeeves-like without devolving into a rutting animal, and Bertie did not intend to devolve into a rutting animal in front of Jeeves. Not when he still had to convince the man to stay on as his valet after the wedding.

'She mustn't cry if there are no breadsticks to be had,' Jeeves sleep-roughened voice suddenly rumbled.

'Good Lord!' Bertie gasped. 'Jeeves, are you still awake?'

'Why would you buy oysters in the wintertime?' Jeeves mumbled into the pillows.

'Is, er, everything quite all right, Jeeves?' Bertie propped himself up on his elbows to survey the stricken man beside him. He poked him in the ribs. 'I think you're dreaming out loud.'

Jeeves pressed the flats of his hands to his eyes as if in pain and took a deep inhalation. 'I am sorry, sir,' he said. 'I don't know what I'm saying. I've had much to drink.'

Bertie dared caress his furrowed brow. 'Believe me, Jeeves, I can sympathise with your predicament. Are your internals feeling unmoored?'

'Indeed, sir. The room is swaying like a ship's hold.' Jeeves allowed his hands to fall from his tired face, but he kept his eyes shut.

'Are you going to be sick?'

Jeeves shook his head. 'I don't believe so.'

'Would you like me to--?' Bertie swallowed. 'Jeeves. I'm going to hold you steady now. It might-- It will help the dizziness.'

'If you think it best, sir,' Jeeves said, and meekly allowed himself to be pulled into Bertie's arms. Bertie cupped a hand to the back of that incredible cranium and whispered soothing things as Jeeves rested his cheek against Bertie's shoulder. It was a strange fit, as Jeeves was built on much the same lines as an armoured tank and Bertie was the more willowy of the two, but it worked out somehow. And there he was, scant inches from Bertie's face, vulnerable and trusting and so, so pliable. When had Bertie ever seen him this way? When had he ever been able to slide his hand down his softly rising and falling flank, counting his ribs like he was counting on an abacus?

Was this real love, Bertie wondered. To have what you wanted in your very hands, but to be determined not to harm it because you knew it wasn't rightly yours?

'Thank you, sir, this is much improved,' Jeeves spoke along the skin of his neck, a quiet, whispered confession in the dark.

Bertie stared up at the ceiling. 'Go to sleep now, Jeeves,' he said. 'Please go to sleep.'

'Good night, sir,' Jeeves murmured, his voice tapering into the barest whisper as he fell under Morpheus' curtain once more.

'Good night,' Bertie said, and resigned himself to a sleepless night watching over the man he loved, who would never love him in return, and who was much too drunk for it to make any difference anyway.

&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;

When Beatrice woke up the next morning, it was to the sight of her maid Jane staring at her as if memorising her face. Bee sleepily mumbled something to that effect, and Jane replied, 'Would you rather I remembered nothing, miss?'

'What are you going on about? Are you still tight?' Beatrice yawned and rolled over; in truth, mornings were not her best times. But although she was still wearing the same dress she wore to dinner, all creased and messy, and although her cropped blonde hair was a wild nest of tangles, Jane couldn't help but feel she had never been more beautiful.

'No, miss. However, it occurs to me that last night should be the final time I sleep at your side.'

Bee rolled over with comic speed, sending nearly all the bedclothes over the edge of the mattress. She gaped at Jane, who was drawing sad circles on a pillow with her fingernail.

'Jane, whatever do you mean?' Beatrice asked. She clasped the other woman's fidgeting hand in her own, forcing her to meet her eyes.

But Jane's grey gaze was too full of sorrow to hold for very long. 'When were you planning on informing me of your union with Mr Wooster?'

'Who, Bertie? I was going to ask you about that the minute I found you. But I suppose Jeeves told you first? What do you think? Isn't it a cracker of an idea?' Beatrice rose to her knees on the mattress and bounced with no little excitement.

'A cracker, miss?' Jane glowered.

'Well, yes! Just think how nice it will be to have a whole apartment to ourselves, plus my full inheritance, and to never actually see my husband from one end of the week to the other.' Bee grinned widely.

The maid lifted herself from the sheets, somehow retaining a regal bearing though her hair was half out of its bun and her uniform was dishevelled from sleeping in it. 'Miss, could you please repeat that?'

&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;

Bertie woke up silently. Jeeves was moving just a bit in his arms, and Bertie supposed they both must have fallen asleep at some point in the night because it was dashed difficult to get his eyes open again. When they were finally peeled, Bertie saw that Jeeves had his peepers still firmly shut and was sleeping against him, his head resting heavily on his shoulder.

So heavily, in fact, that Bertie's entire arm was now a victim of the needles and pins. But never mind. He lay there still and catalogued every detail of Jeeves' face as seen from close up. There were tiny little microscopic wrinkles, distinguished wrinkles of course, at the very corners of his eyes, and the very faintest scar on the underside of his stalwart chin. Bertie imagined a million childhood adventures that could have resulted in that scar; no doubt young Jeeves had been doing something wonderfully heroic. His ink-black hair had become mussed in the night, and its brill cream sheen and perfect part were now replaced with a charming fringe that hung into his face.

Bertie reached up with his free hand, the one not squashed beneath Jeeves, and gently tucked a lock of hair safely behind his perfectly formed ear. Jeeves shifted again and murmured something under his breath; Bertie knew he wouldn't stay asleep forever, and the way he calculated, there were two ways Jeeves could react upon waking: badly or awkwardly.

The barest hint of deep blue eye was revealed as Jeeves struggled from the arms of slumber. Bertie watched and waited.

Badly or awkwardly, he kept thinking. One or the other.

Apparently, he didn't bank on both.

There was one nano-second of time after Jeeves opened his eyes and looked at Bertie where everything seemed to be just fine; for that small moment, Jeeves didn't seem to recognise anything at all. And then, chaos.

The look of realisation came over his face, and Jeeves jerked away from Bertie, which caused the Wooster arm to flare up with pins and needles all anew, which made Bertie gasp in pain, which Jeeves reacted to by leaping out of bed, but because the bedclothes were wrapped tightly round both he and Bertie, this resulted in Bertie being dragged face-first onto the floor, where he smashed his nose into the floorboards.

Bertie wasn't sure which hurt more, his arm or his bloody nose. He moaned at both.

Jeeves set about apologising profusely and retrieving his handkerchief to stanch the bleeding, while Bertie tried unsuccessfully to convince him it was just a scratch. It was there, with both men sitting on the floor and Jeeves pressing his immaculate white handkerchief into the gore that was pouring from Bertie's snout, that Jeeves finally said, 'Sir, I am still in my clothes from yesterday.'

'Yeb, Jeebs,' Bertie managed through his injured nose.

'I do not recall anything after--' Jeeves paused. His gaze fastened squarely on Bertie's traumatised face. 'Sir, I ask you this because I consider you an honest man . . . .'

'Welb, tank oo, Jeebs.'

'Do you wish me to tender my resignation effective immediately in light of last night's events, or shall I wait out the formal two-week period of notice?'

Bertie took Jeeves' hand, the one holding the handkerchief to his nose, and lowered it so he could speak properly. He mustered up all his Oxford-taught eloquence to spout: 'What?'

Jeeves folded his handkerchief to a clean side and dabbed away the blood drying at Bertie's top lip. 'I could attempt to offer excuses as to why I was so intoxicated last night, sir, and I could attempt to apologise for sleeping more or less on top of you, but there is no earthly reason why you should be forced to listen to such things.' Jeeves' voice was low and stiff as he tended to Bertie's injuries. The blood had stopped, Bertie thought, but still he kept at it. 'After all,' Jeeves said at barely a whisper, 'your impending nuptials will render my employment null soon anyway, sir.'

'Ah, but Jeeves, you haven't yet heard my cunning plan in regards to said nuptials.' Bertie stuck a finger in the air with the air of a professor. 'It's going to be a fake marriage, you see.'

Jeeves blinked.

'That is, a marriage that isn't exactly as real as--'

'Yes sir, I did hear you. Could you please explain from the beginning?'

&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;&lt;&gt;

And so both maid and valet, as pained in their heads with the effects of their late evening as they were, absorbed the facts of the matter. There was some embarrassment on both sides, I can tell you, because of this little communication problem. But, well, that's what happens when you don't bother to just write a note or something explaining your plans for a sham marriage while the one who loves you and also happens to be your personal attendant comes to their own conclusions.

I suppose you're waiting for the bit where Bertie and Bee get hitched and buy that divided house, what? And you might also be looking forward to another description of female-on-female filth, or perhaps you're in the class of people waiting on tenterhooks for Bertie and Jeeves to finally kiss the bally hell out of each other.

This was what happened instead: Jane became angry, and Jeeves, downright furious.

'A false husband?' Jane cried in her mistress' room.

'A pretend wife?' Jeeves blustered in his master's quarters.

'Jolly clever, what?' the plan's proponents replied.

Jane began the argument on the side of the paragons: 'No, miss, I cannot say such a plan of action pleases me. I realise I don't often give voice to my inner emotions--'

'--but surely I must state plainly how I feel in regards to your matrimonial future, sir,' Jeeves continued on his own battlefield. 'A sham marriage--'

'--might appear on the surface as an arrangement that is agreeable to both parties,' Jane stated, 'but perhaps this requires more thought on your part. For example, will there be--'

'--the usual consummation of the event?' Jeeves asked with a raised eyebrow.

Bertie made a face. 'Good Lord, no. Bee--'

'--would rather stick a fork into my eye!' Beatrice assured her maid. 'You have my promise there won't be any of that nonsense in my union, but--'

'But I'm sure you have additional objections?' Bertie made a gesture that gave Jeeves the floor once again.

'Well, sir, I must also oppose the blatant disregard for the--'

'--sanctity of marriage, miss,' Jane finished.

Beatrice rolled her eyes. 'Jane, you've often fixed up pals of mine to get engaged knowing full well that their married life will be--'

'--bally miserable! To come to me spouting this tosh about how sanctified you find marriage is just--' Bertie struggled to his feet. 'Look, let's just go have this chat along with the parties of the second part, hm? I'm sure Bee will share my opinion on this.'

And so Bertie and Jeeves trooped through the quiet mid-morning corridors of Brinkley to Beatrice's room. On their way, they passed Seppings, who took in their state of dishabille with a horrified stare. Bertie was in his bare feet, after all, and Jeeves had not put on his tie.

'Er, what-ho, Seppings,' Bertie said as he edged by. Jeeves gave the butler a small bow before hurrying onward.

The two men entered the Wemble room right in the middle of the females' argument.

'--and I'm certain he doesn't give a fig about having children!' Beatrice was saying as Bertie slipped into the room. Jeeves followed with a polite cough, and Beatrice whirled to see them. 'Bertie! I was just telling Jane here that you don't have any designs on my womb. Could you please assure her of such?'

Bertie frowned. 'Well, I'm not sure I even want to say that word, to be honest with you. So you're quite right.'

Jane focussed on Jeeves and approached him. 'Mr Jeeves, please tell me you also disagree with our employers' decision.'

'I do indeed,' he said with a nod.

Bee gave a frustrated huff and caught a look at herself in the mirror. She attempted to finger-comb her hair into a less ridiculous shape and said, 'Jane was just giving me some line about how holy the marriage state is, which is just rubbish. How many ill-suited couples have we practically pushed onto the altar, Jane? Marriage is and always will be a joke, so why should Bertie's and mine be any different?'

'Because I love you!' Jane roared.

Bertie jumped. Jeeves lifted an eyebrow. Beatrice stopped fiddling in the mirror and turned to her maid, looking rather overcome.

'Oh, darling--'

'I love you, and I want your marriage to be a proper one.' Jane took her mistress' hands in her own and looked down at them as she spoke. 'I want it to be me, miss, who is tied to you for life. Not Mr Wooster.' Jane cast a glance over her shoulder at said Wooster. 'I don't mean to slight you, sir, but this plot of yours is not water-tight. Have you considered all the social events you would be required to attend as a married couple? The pressures to have children? Surely even two people as warm and light-hearted as yourselves would bend under the strain of living a lie for the rest of your days.'

Bee swallowed audibly. 'Jane, I wish you could be the one I married too. But you know that's impossible, so why not do the next best thing?'

'The next best thing, if you pardon me saying so, miss,' Jeeves coughed, 'is not good enough. I'm certain Miss Roberts feels that you deserve better.'

'I know it is very selfish of me, miss,' Jane said, 'but I would rather we stayed true to each other and no one else, and damn the consequences.'

'Of course, old girl, of course.' Bee leaned forward slowly, lips parted, before stopping short with a blink. 'Erm, Jeeves, are you one of the sympathisers by any chance?'

'Yes, miss. Please do not censor yourself on my account.'

'Jolly good.' And Bee kissed Jane with all the tenderness of a wife.

Bertie tugged on Jeeves' sleeve and tipped his head sideways to indicate the door they should leave by, and they crept out unseen by the ladies, who were busy with other things. 'I say, Jeeves,' Bertie said as they walked down the hall. 'This may be the best broken engagement I've had yet. It's a rummy thing, you know.'

'Indeed, sir. Very moving, I'm sure.' Jeeves continued walking, but the sound of a slight sniff gave him pause. He turned to see Bertie leaning against a column and rubbing his eye with the edge of his palm. 'Sir? Are you unwell?'

Bertie shook his head ruefully, his red eyes blinking rapidly. 'It's only--' He shrugged.

'Yes, sir?'

'Love, Jeeves.' Bertie sniffed. 'One wonders when or even if one will ever have it. Just looking at those two fillies in there, Jeeves, I know it's real. It must be, what?'

Jeeves lent an assisting hand to Bertie's pyjamaed elbow. 'Perhaps this is a conversation best carried out in your quarters, sir,' he said.

They climbed the stairs and headed back to Bertie's room in silence. When the door was shut behind them, Bertie burst out, 'I'm sorry, Jeeves. This little bit of waterworks is dashed silly, I know.'

'Not at all, sir.' Jeeves hesitated before leading his young master to an armchair and helping him take a seat. 'It is unfortunate that the woman was,' a cough into his fist, 'unavailable, sir, but that is no fault of yours.'

Bertie looked up at his valet. 'Woman? You mean Bee? What the devil are you talking about?'

'The reason behind your distress, sir. I'm sure the rejection is upsetting to you.'

Bertie chuckled. 'Bee's rejection is nothing to cry over, Jeeves!'

If a frog could look quizzical, Jeeves was doing a fine impression of it. 'Then what has moved you so, sir?'

'Do you honestly not know?' Bertie closed his eyes and rested his tired head against the wing-back. 'Dash it, that maid of Bee's was right; damn all the consequences.' He flashed those wide bright eyes up at Jeeves and said, rather apologetically, 'What's moved me, Jeeves, is that is occurs to me that the closest thing this Wooster will ever have to a wedding night happened last night.' An inappropriate laugh bubbled from his lips, bordering on the hysterical. 'All I did was hold you. And you don't even remember it.'

Jeeves stood by, tall and stunned, looking like an unskilled artist's rendering of what Jeeves should be. Shirtsleeves creased and trousers wrinkled, eyes astonished. 'Sir?' he managed.

'Oh, what's the point of keeping it from you any longer?' Bertie reached over to the side table for his cigarette case. His fingers itched to hold something. 'You would have figured it out eventually, if you truly haven't already. Leave if you must, but do so knowing--' He paused to bite his lower lip and tap the tip of his gasper against the case. 'Know that I love you, Jeeves, in the honest, actual way.'

Jeeves stood there for precisely two and a half seconds before reaching down and taking the cigarette and cigarette case from Bertie's hands. He placed them back on the side table, and Bertie watched them go forlornly. But, he considered, it was very sporting of Jeeves to give him the full use of his hands to defend himself from the sock in the jaw he was sure to receive.

He braced himself, but the blow didn't come. Instead, Jeeves took Bertie's hands in his and fell to his knees, pressing his cheek to the top of Bertie's thigh. Bertie gaped at this sudden lapful of valet. He found the sight of it had robbed him of his voice.

'Last night will not be the nearest thing to your honeymoon, sir,' Jeeves said in a strangled way, like an ostrich trying to wring a chorus from its throat. 'I promise you that.'

'Jeeves?' Bertie finally croaked.

'Hold me every night, sir.' Jeeves closed his eyes, his head resting trustingly in Bertie's lap. 'Please.'

The young master freed a hand from Jeeves' grip and touched Jeeves' face, guiding his eyes up to him. That first eye contact after the wall of propriety had fallen: Bertie had never known anything like it. Jeeves' eyes were all afire, and in Bertie's eyes, Jeeves saw only purity of spirit. Bertie bent down, and Jeeves pushed himself upwards so that their lips were an inch away, parted only by their shallow puffs of breath. Bertie surged forward to close the gap, but Jeeves suddenly drew back.

'Jeeves, wait! I--' Bertie clutched at his man's arms; he knew he shouldn't have tried that kissing business so soon!

'I'm sorry, sir.' Jeeves had the decency to appear sheepish. 'I have not performed any of my usual ablations this morning. I'm afraid I'm not fit to kiss at the moment.'

'Oh.' Bertie ran his tongue over the front of his own teeth. 'I see what you mean, Jeeves. I could use a quick brushing of the canines as well.'

And so, before their first kiss, Bertie found himself with Jeeves in the bathroom, sharing the sink. Bertie brushed his teeth while Jeeves attempted to comb his ebony hair into order.

'Jeefs,' Bertie said, and then spat into the sink to speak properly, 'Jeeves, it's only going to get mussed again.'

'I prefer to feel prepared, sir.'

'Right-ho. Fancy a brush?' Bertie offered Jeeves his rinsed toothbrush.

Jeeves looked at it as if it were a puff adder.

'Really, Jeeves. In a few moments, will it matter?' Bertie wheedled.

Jeeves took the toothbrush grudgingly, holding it between his thumb and forefinger like he would with Bertie's more untoward articles of clothing. He reached for the tube of Sheffield's Creme Dentifrice and applied it with all the care of one conducting an experiment with radioactive material.

Bertie sighed. 'Look, if you'd rather we didn't--'

But Jeeves placed the cap back on the tube and, holding Bertie's gaze, shoved the toothbrush in his own mouth. Bertie actually laughed aloud at the stubborn look on his valet's face with the toothbrush sticking out of the corner of his lips; an unhappy bulldog refusing to let go of a bone.

'Jeeves, I do believe that, for you, was a bigger step than slipping a ring on some woman's finger.' Bertie was now doubled over with laughter.

His valet brushed his teeth thoroughly before spitting and rinsing. Then he deigned to respond: 'I tend to agree, sir.'

Regaining his breath, Bertie straightened and leaned his hip against the edge of the sink, his arms crossed over his chest. 'Well? Are you suitably prepared now?'

Jeeves cast a worried glance at his togs, creased as they were. He attempted to fiddle a shirt-cuff into place, and he tugged at the bottom of his waistcoat to get it in line. He was one second away from asking Bertie where his tie had gone when the young master reached out and held his hand.

'You look fine to me, Jeeves.'

'Thank you, sir, but it disturbs me to not meet my usual standards.' Jeeves returned Bertie's grip with a squeeze of his own. 'If I am completely honest, I have envisioned a moment like this for a long time. But it was always perfect in my imagination, and I did not have quite so many wrinkles in my clothing.'

'In my imagination,' Bertie blushed and looked down at his toes, 'you didn't have quite so much clothing. So I suppose if we're both at peace with these minor disappointments, we might get on with the thing, what?'

Jeeves allowed the barest hint of a smile to show at the corner of his mouth, and he bent down to kiss his master. Bertie accepted the kiss with closed eyes: a faint brush, their two sets of lips meeting in a rather chaste way, a shared breath that tasted of medicinal mint. Bertie could feel his pulse hammering away in his hands and his head, and he wondered if Jeeves could feel it too. Just the warm beat of his heart in the tender skin of his lips, only for Jeeves.

Because he wanted to make good on his threat to muss Jeeves' hair, Bertie slid a hand up the back of Jeeves' neck to do just that. Jeeves, meanwhile, felt it imperative to crush Bertie to him so that their bodies met and aligned together; the truth was, he did feel Bertie's heart beating in a hundred different points of his body, and he wanted to feel them all at once. The kiss deepened. Bertie was pressed back against the sink. Then the tables turned and Jeeves was pressed against the towel rack. Then it was Bertie against the door frame, and Jeeves' hands at his wrists, and then it was Jeeves being shoved backward into the bedroom, all without the kiss breaking. For Bertie, tasting his manservant at last was like discovering land after a lifetime at sea. For Jeeves, it was like the wall of a levee had crumbled, letting in a tidal wave.

Bertie didn't want it to end. Which was good, because Jeeves couldn't stop.

One final twist, and Bertie had won the battle for control. He backed Jeeves right up against the bed so that when the backs of his knees hit the mattress, he was bowled over on his back, landing in a pile of the still-unmade bedclothes.

Bertie finally relinquished Jeeves' kiss to watch him fall. He smiled down at the sight of his valet sprawled and kiss-ravaged, and he made a frame out of his hands, pretending to capture Jeeves inside it. 'This should be printed and hung on every wall of the flat.'

Jeeves took hold of the lapels of Bertie's pyjama shirt and tugged him down atop of him. 'Kiss me again, sir.'

And Bertie was just about to oblige when Beatrice stumbled into the room, shouting, 'Bertie, I've come to say goodbye, and--Oh, good Lord! Haven't you learnt the importance of door-locking already?'

Bertie sprang off the bed like a jack-in-the-box, and Jeeves distanced himself as well.

'Miss Wemble--' the valet began.

'Oh, never mind it, Jeeves.' Bee shut the door behind her. 'Bertie's seen me in much worse circs. Now I'm off to catch a liner, Bertie. Jane's arranged the whole thing. We're going to look into those Boston marriages one hears so much about. You will write, of course?' She was already pulling on her driving gloves.

'Of course. And if I'm ever in New York, I will be sure to ring you up.' Bertie stuck out his hand, and Bee shook it.

'Capital.' Beatrice looked over at Jeeves, who was attempting to imitate a sculpted statue despite his mussed hair and open collar. 'May I suggest you two head back to London? The sooner the better. The country is so,' she shrugged, 'open. No privacy.'

'Right-ho. Safe journey, Bee.'

'Goodbye, Bertie. Goodbye, Jeeves.'

'Farewell, miss.'

The door shut behind their visitor once more, and Bertie turned to his man Jeeves.

'Jeeves,' he said, 'pack the bags, would you?'

'Certainly, sir.'

'I have an inkling, Jeeves, that we can reach London in under three hours if I drive quite recklessly, which I plan to do.'

'Very good, sir,' Jeeves said, and pressed one last quick kiss to Bertie's lips before turning his attention to the wardrobe.

 

 

fin.

> Whew! I've been working on this one for nearly two months and I'm not sure that it shows. It was very difficult to get everything in the right order. Anyway, I hoped you enjoyed the rather silly story of miscommunication and romance and such. Thanks as always to [](http://hwshipper.livejournal.com/profile)[**hwshipper**](http://hwshipper.livejournal.com/) for beta reading. And thanks for reading!


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